Thoughts of a Crazed Archaeologist's Daughter
by FieryBrunette
Summary: Marion Ravenwood has a lot of things on her mind. With her tendency to break everything, her ever-aging father,and his new, cocky, oh-so-irksome and kind of cute pupil Indiana Jones, she's bound to lose it, right? Prequel to Raiders, from Marion's POV.
1. The girl with green eyes

**A/N: Alright, this is my first Indiana Jones fic. but hopefully not my last. Please review! I'm really new to this category, though I am a writer on this website through another name. This is basically how Indy and Marion met and her thoughts on the subject. None of these are going to be over 1000 words. Thats the point.**

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My name is Marion Elena Ravenwood, daughter of the world famous archaeologist, Abner Ravenwood

Today is my seventeenth birthday.

And so far, its been the absolute crappiest day of my Goddamn life. No lie.

Why? Might you ask?

Apparently, no one remembered it was my birthday today. No one.

Shall I tell the whole story??

Well, you don't have any choice in the matter, so you're going to hear it anyway.

You see, my dad and I have a kind of tense relationship. Ever since my mother died when I was little, he's immersed himself in his work and left me out. Sure, I come with him on all of his trips around the world looking for objects that are far more important to him than me, but in reality, I feel like there is a glass window between the two of us. Which is why I call him Abner. When mom died, I lost all respect for him.

But on my birthday, however, its as if mom never died. I call him dad and for once, he leaves his work alone and spends time with me, his only daughter. I'm nice and dress like a normal human girl (stockings, dress and everything...bleck) and in return, he spoils me for just one day.

So, you must be thinking, but Marion, if you think its so great on your birthday, then why is it so crappy today?

Because my bloody father ruined my life, that's why.

Yes, yes I'll tell you how.

I woke up late this morning just because I could. It was a school day, but Abner never makes me go to school on my birthday. I was free to roam Chicago University until my feet were black and blue.

I figured Abner (I now refuse to call him dad. Even on my birthday) had something special planned like dinner or a trip to the school theater. I mean, it is my birthday after all!

So I practically soared out of bed and ran downstairs, not bothering to slip on my wraps. (You know, that thing you are supposed to slip over your nightgown when in the presence of a guy or whatever. More womanly crap to deal with..) I tripped while going down the stairs, nearly catapulting myself out the window and knocking over a Babylonian vase that is some thousand years old. Don't get me wrong, I knew Abner would be furious when he found out about this, but trust me, with my klutziness, it happens all the time.

I threw open the door to Abner's study, not even bothering to knock.

"Good morning, Ben!" I shouted to our butler, giving him a strangling hug. (Hey, we've had this guy with us for about ten years now, so I think some affection is in order!).

I skipped rather clumsily over to Abner, who was siting in his chair by the fireplace, his legs crossed and his face hidden underneath his newspaper. I placed my hands on his knees. "Good morning Daddy!" I called, savoring the taste of the word 'daddy' on my tongue. When he didn't answer, I pulled the paper down from in front of his face.

When I saw who was really behind the paper, the following words went through my head: Oh. Shit.

A man, who was definitely not Abner, grinned up at me, an easy going smile plastered on his face. He gave me a blink of pleasant surprise, turned to Ben and asked, "Whose the girl with the green eyes?"

I couldn't do anything at that moment but run up to my room, both in terror that a stranger saw my in my nightgown and in anger that Abner was not there to celebrate my birthday.

I've been up here for three hours now.

Life sucks.

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**A/N: Ok, did you like it? Could you please review? If I don't get good reviews, I'll probably take the story off the website. I plan to do shorts just like this but they will get more interesting, I promise!**


	2. The Impostor

**A/N: I'm having fun writing these shorts. Hopefully I'll post one or two everyday...Who knows? Oh, and obviously, Marion is not exactly a well tamed woman and her mouth may run awry, if you haven't noticed. But...if the cussing is too much for anyone, just let me know and I'll try toning it down.**

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It's been five hours now.

I'm DYING.

I absolutely refuse to even think about going down stairs. The Impostor will never see me again, I swear on that. The Impostor is the strange man who ate my father and took his place. Evil man.

I rang for the cook to bring me up something to eat (I failed to grab a pastry on my way up here) and when the servant entered with the food, I tackled the poor sap down and interrogated him about the Impostor.

Here's what I found out:

1) His full name is Henry Jones Jr. but everyone calls him Indy or Indiana. I think I heard Abner mention this guy's dad who is well known for knowing stuff about the famous million year old object that everyone wants and blah blah blah blah.

2) He is 26 years old with a degree in Archaeology and History

3) He's my father's new pupil for the next three years, meaning I will be getting the boot for the next (I counted) 1095 days

See how this ass ruined my life?

I was getting along with Abner. We weren't arguing as much, we even had nice conversations over dinner instead of stony silences. But then this exciting, intriguing, prodigy comes and my father completely forgets the fact that his only child was BORN TODAY!!

So here I have been, holed up in my room all stinking day. I think I could get used to this, you know. Marion Ravenwood, the girl who lived in her room for three years off of pancakes and bacon while the Impostor destroyed the outside world. I believe I could work that title. And, you know, I wouldn't mind living off bacon and pancakes. But the way I inhale food, I might just eat all the pancakes and bacon in the entire Earth's population.

I eat like a pig, you know. Yet I'm as skinny as a stick. While all the girls my age get up early in the morning, put on their make-up and nibble on their celery sticks, I sleep in and then get up only to consume a feast that could serve all of the living dead. I can never gain any weight, its quite sad. I'm so petite that I can still fit into the play clothes that fit me at ten years old. This isn't good for me, because then all the guys at school try to take advantage of me and rape me in the school hallways. Not kidding. Well ha on them, because I happen to know exactly how to deliver a nasty upper left hook punch. This results in me being the most popular girl among other girls and the most unpopular among the guys. That's fine. I don't really give a crap about guys anyway.

Ugh, but this Impostor. I'd like to give him multiple blows to the face. It's because of him that my birthday is annihilated.

The top reason I want to beat this guy's ass?

The fact that he addressed me as 'the girl with green eyes' makes me angrier than ever. It's my birthday today for Christ's Sake! It's bad enough that no one remembers this, but he could have at least asked me my name, or if I would possibly like some sympathy or an ice cream soda?

I don't even remember what he looks like. I was in such a panic. My life is just...ugh...in shambles. My father is bloody losing his mind, talking about finding the Ark of the Covenant and how great it is. I can't seem to get that stupid history grade up, and I'm an Archaeologist's daughter! I screw everything up, I'm skinny as a stick. My life just doesn't need another reason for stress. Yet here it is, and I'm guessing it's the only present I'm going to get.

I never did tell Abner that I wanted Indiana Jones for my birthday, so why the hell is he here?

I'm sure he is plenty ugly. Fat, unkind and the whole sh-bang.

I'll bet he's stupid, not really deserving those degrees in archaeology and history.

I'll bet he's sexist.

And perverted.

I'll bet he's...

Hang on, someones knocking on my door.

If I just look under the crack...

Oh My God, he's outside my room. The bloody Impostor is standing outside my door!! And I'm still in my nightgown without my wraps!!

Crap.

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**Please review. Please please please. I need some thorough feed back. I would love you if you did. **


	3. First Impressions

Well.

He's not as bad as I thought.

But totally not my type.

He's dressed in slacks, and a loose button down shirt.

And unlike he was five hours ago, he's wearing the nerdiest pairs of glasses I have ever seen.

But then again, in my girlie nightgown glory, I'm not looking to great either.

I let him walk in, though I give off an air of the utmost contempt. The man ruined my birthday after all.

"Your Abner's daughter?..." He says, snapping his fingers as if trying to place my name.

"Marion." I say icily, sitting as gracefully as I can on my bed, though I certainly don't leave room for him to sit.

"And you're Indiana." I say, as if telling him and not myself.

"Yes, I am. How do you do?" He asks, holding out a hand.

I ponder it for a minute and then decided to throw him for a whole three sixty.

"It's not nice to meet you." I say, taking his hand, shaking it firmly and turning promptly away.

"I'm sorry?" He says, clearly muddled.

"I said it's not nice to meet you." I say airily, standing up and striding over to my closet and taking out some clothing. (A pair of jeans and a white blouse)

"And why would that be?" He asks, a clear amount of apprehensiveness in his voice. I've got him right where I want him.

"Well, its not everyday that your own father forgets your birthday and gives you the present of a new pupil." I say, walking over to my Vanity and sitting, while brushing my hair up into a pony tail.

"Look, I'm really sorry that I interrupted your happy day, but you can't just judge me." He said, walking over to me where I'm trying to tame my unruly black hair. It just never stays put.

"Can't I?" I ask, standing and giving him the meanest glare I can muster.

He stands there for a minute, dumbfounded. I take in his appearance. He's young, and definitely looks to be just shy of his current age. His hair is slicked back, and I wonder if that's what he does all of the time. His eyes, (which are impossible to make out the color from this distance) are infuriated and confused.

I give him a satisfied smirk, pleased that he can't reply. "Let me inform you, Mr. Jones," I begin, putting extra sarcasm on the 'Mr. Jones', "that while every damned professor here may fawn over you, I am not going to be your groupie. Find some other girl to admire you constantly. This girl, however, is going to get out of her nightgown and in to some proper and comfortable clothing!"

I have a feeling this was the wrong word choice. His eyes, at the mention if the word 'nightgown' stray down to my body, traveling from my face to my feet in a mere two seconds. I can tell that he liked what he saw by the small smile pulling at the corner's of his stupid lips, so just spite him, I put my arms protectively over my chest.

Take that.

He puts his hands up as if to hold me off or something. "Trust me, green eyed girl, I'll leave you alone."

My anger flares at the name he has given me and I do not believe him, seeing as his eyes are once again running over my exposed body and the smile is clearly apparent on his face.

"Get out." I say, disdain written across my face clearly.

"Why should I leave, when we are getting along so well?" He asks, taking a step towards me.

I take a step backwards.

"If you come any closer, I'll make you wish you hadn't." I say, narrowing my eyes brutally at him.

"Relax, I know well enough to stay away from the feisty ones." He says, eyes glinting mischievously.

"Damn straight." I say, clutching my clothes tighter to my chest.

At that precise moment, Abner walks in and my anger doubles. I hold my tongue, but I am so tempted to let it all out. So tempted.

"I see you've met my daughter, Indy." My father says, after striding forward and giving not me, but the Impostor a firm hug.

"Yeah, we were just getting acquainted." The Impostor says, giving me a cocky smile which I return with another glare.

"Indiana, this is Marion." My father says, giving me the 'be nice or else' look.

"Hello, Marion." Indiana says, striding forward and once again shaking my hand. I find that as much as I despise him, I find I like the way he says my name. It comes out of his arrogant mouth rather nicely, like melted chocolate over ice cream.

"Likewise, Indiana." I say, shaking his hand with a death grip, giving a falsely sweet smile at his wince of pain.

"Well now," Abner says, patting Indy on the back, "I came to get you because there is a conference on the lost city of Tanis in the ballroom that we just can't miss."

They walk out of the room together, and I stand, completely forgotten.

I sit on my bed, completely miffed. How dare my father forget! I was standing right there and he didn't even wish me many happy returns! Oh, that hurts.

Indiana Jones, ha, prepare to meet your maker. I'm going to make you wish you never agreed to come here. I'm going to make you cry for mommy.

I lift my nightgown over my head and change into my jeans and shirt.

This is going to be a long three years.

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**Reviewreviewreviewreview... Please?**


	4. Small Talk

It's dinner time and I'm starving.

Ben was kind enough to mention that in honor of my birthday, they are serving my favorite dishes. Cheese pizza, broccoli with cheese fondue and strawberry ice cream with hot fudge for desert.

Damn, that's really not fair.

I'm ten minutes late for dinner and personally I don't care. I'm wearing the skirt and button up blouse my friend Carrie bought for me (there's one person who remembered my birthday) but I refuse to go downstairs and dine with Jones. Or Abner, for that matter.

Ben just informed me that my father wants me down there in one minute or I'll go to summer school.

Hell no.

I'd rather endure an evening with my two least favorite people than go to summer school.

I stomp down the stairs, my hair flying about my peckish face as I take caution to not knock down another Babylonian vase.

I open the door to the dining room with a bang, my feet slapping on the tile as I run to my seat at the long rectangular table. I feel Abner's gaze upon my face but do not meet it. I'm too angry for words to describe.

Silently, I pick up a piece of pizza and take a ravenous bite out of it. Jones is eyeing me, but slowly returns to his food.

"Marion." My father says, his tone jovial but firm.

"Yes, Abner?" I shoot back between my teeth, ignoring his blink of surprise. No one should ever be nice and manageable when they have a good excuse to be awful and mean. My excuse: No one remembered my birthday but my best friend.

"Did you have a nice birthday?" Abner asks, dipping some broccoli into the cheese fondue.

I'm too shocked to reply.

"Young Indy was kind enough to remind me, so, Happy seventeenth birthday, Marion." He continues, gesturing at Jones, who is as red as a beet and chewing determinedly on his pizza.

Anger boils up again inside me and I can't hold it back. I turn furiously to Abner.

"What, were you too busy to remember your only child's birthday yourself?" I snap, wishing I had some kind of weapon in my hand so I could beat that man senseless.

But then again, I might have taken my words too far.

"Marion Elena Ravenwood--." Abner begins, his voice in a dangerously low pitch.

I sit and await for the words of confinement to my room, but then Ben (bless him) walks in and tells Abner that he has a telephone call waiting. He leaves, but not without a backward glance that makes me fear for my life. Hey, he may be old and decrepit, but boy does that old man know the art of intimidation.

The door clicks shut and I am left alone with Jones.

In the course of five seconds, his demeanor completely changes. The shy but serious look is replaced with one of relaxed arrogance.

"A simple thank you will suffice." He says lightly, winking in my direction.

Needless to say, I'm disgusted.

"Well, I'm sorry to say that you'll get much less than that." I reply saucily, downing my glass of wine in one gulp.

He stares at me oddly for a minute, probably because he's never seen a girl my age completely finish off a glass of wine in a mere second or so. But, unfortunately, he gains his voice back and says something.

"I did you a favor by reminding your dad it was your birthday."

I notice that he to gulps down his wine.

"Might I remind you that you are here to ruin the next three years of my life. So no, you have not done me any favors." I drawl, returning to my food.

He watches me eat for a while and says. "If you dislike me that much, Marion, I'll leave."

That caught me off guard, I have to say.Yet, I recover as always.

"Please don't make me beg." I say, batting my eyelashes at him.

I'm well aware that I'm being a bitch, you know. That's kinda the whole point, just in case you're missing something.

He clearly looks peeved now, and I believe I'm starting to achieve my goal.

"Marion--." He starts, but then stops, as if terrified to voice his opinion.

"And don't call me Marion." I demand vehemently.

"Alright, Miss Ravenwood." He says, mouth set in a frown.

Abner walks in and smiles at each of our livid faces.

"It's nice to know you two are getting along." He says cheerily, seating himself once more.

I swear to God that man has lost his mind.

Archaeology can do that to you, you know.

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**Pleas review. I'll cry if you don't. I beg you...please REVIEW!**


	5. Tree House

Two days after the Impostor has arrived, I'm sitting in my tree. In this tree, ten years ago, my mother and father built a tree-house for me. Well, my skinny ass can no longer fit in the tree house anymore, but I still sit in the tree.

It's a big sycamore, my one place in our tiny college campus backyard where neither my father, nor anyone else for that matter, can reach me. Not even stupid Indiana Jones can disturb my solace or make my life worse.

I've been avoiding him for the last few days, merely catching glimpses of him in the hallway and hearing snatches of his voice throughout the house. I've basically been living in my room as planned, occasionally sneaking down to the kitchens for a snack. The nice thing, though, is that I'm back to school, so I'm not always cooped up in my room.

Abner supposedly 'made up' for my forgotten birthday by buying me some trashy romance novel titled 'Pride and Prejudice'. Bleck. Both Abner and I know that I'd rather be reading a thrilling mystery than a ROMANCE NOVEL. He didn't seem offended at all when I told him that. He merely trotted out of my room without another word.

So here I sit, sketching my bitten apple as it sits on my knee. For the first time this week, I don't feel threatened by anyone or anything. I enjoy the feel of my scratchy jeans on my legs. Abner has always prompted me to wear ideal women's clothing. I personally can't stand it. Maybe a skirt here and there, but all the time? I find men's clothes to be much more comfortable and better for climbing trees. Abner says that when I fall in love, I won't think like that anymore. I'll want to look nice and presentable. I tell him I never will get married, which I probably won't. Looking at how wimpy guys are these days, no one is able to handle me, I'm sure of that.

But then again, maybe if I find the right guy...

Oh Jesus Christ, what does he want now?

Great, Jones found my hiding place.

"Can I come up?" He calls up at me.

"Not if you don't want to get pushed all the way back down!" I holler back, still intent on my apple drawing.

"Well, will you come down? I'd like to talk to you." He yells.

"Go away!" Is all I say to reply.

Seconds later I feel a thud against the tree as he bangs his fist against it. I hold back a laugh as a string of curse words fall from his mouth.

"I'll stay here all night if I have to!" He shouts, sitting down and leaning against the tree.

I let out a huffy sigh.

That is one stubborn jackass, let me tell you.

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**I received a review yesterday saying that the jeans and tank top in one of these shorts was not in the era. I'm aware of that, and I'm happy that this person pointed it out. However, jeans were actually worn in the 20's, but mostly by men. As for the tank-top, it didn't really exist and I'm sorry for that horrible typo. I changed it to say button up blouse so that should be fine now! So now that that is cleared up, maybe you could drop in a review??**


	6. Fall of Death

It's nearly dark and I'm still up in this stupid tree. It's no longer my favorite place. My bum is sore and my throat is parched.

I lean over the side to see if Jones is still there. He is, but he's asleep at the foot of the tree. He is snoring lightly and I can't help but cackle evilly inside at the sound of his snuffling. Perfect blackmail material.

I decide after a while of pondering to get down from the tree without using the ladder. Just to be daring, you know. I begin to inch forward down my branch, gripping the tree as tight as possible. About halfway down (I'm still a good ten or fifteen feet off the ground) I began to relax a little and loosen my grip. But the minute I do so, my feet slip out from under me and I'm suddenly hanging from the tree with nothing but Earth below me.

I may have a parched throat but I can still scream a hell of a lot. I let it all out, as loud as I possibly can, my feet dangling above the hard ground ten to fifteen feet beneath me.

But as soon as I think I'm done for, Jones is standing underneath me, arms outstretched and face panicked.

"Marion! Let go! I've got you!" He shouts.

"Don't call me Marion!" I scream back, trying to keep from panicking myself.

"Just let go!" He calls.

"Like hell I will!" I reply, refusing to fall into the arms of my sworn enemy. It's not that I don't think he'll be able to catch me because of my weight (like I said, I'm a stick.) but I just have the vaguest feeling that at the last minute he'll take a step back and let me crash and die, just to get me out of the way so he can continue his conquest of the world.

My grip is slipping and my hands are all sweaty and now I begin to panic.

Before I make myself change my mind, I take a leap of faith, releasing my hands and plummeting down to the ground, screaming all the while. My short life is flashing before my eyes and I realize that I never got to say goodbye to Abner.

I'm going to die.

I'm dead.

I must be dead.

But oddly enough, I never feel my neck brake as I smash into the Earth. Instead, I feel two arms supporting me.

I grip my savior, not caring who it is and bury my face in their shirt. I'm shaking, I'm so scared.

"Jesus, Ravenwood." I hear a voice mutter slightly above my head.

I open my eyes and my find myself looking directly up at Jones.

While sitting IN HIS ARMS LIKE A FREAKING DAMSEL IN DISTRESS!

In my moment of post-terror, I'm at a loss for words, so I simply stare at him. I notice something that I didn't notice before.

His hair isn't slicked back today. I find that it's light brown, like the color of toasted wheat bread and is messy and tussled. It's not too long and not too short. I feel an abrupt urge to run my fingers through it. I stare at it for a few seconds, and then realize that I'm still holding myself to him and quaking in fear.

"Are you alright?" He asks, setting me down on my own two feet, on which I wobble uncertainly like a new born calf.

"I'm fine." I say shakily, trying to steady my erratic breathing.

And don't be calling me over dramatic, I just nearly fell to my death. I was supposed to die. But then we've got Mr. Prince Charming here coming to save the day and I just don't know what to say to that.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He asks again, lifting my chin up uncertainly.

I look up at him for a split second and then do the thing that I've been doing quite a lot of lately.

I run away.

I don't go anywhere in particular. I just go. I run down the streets of Chicago U., my bare feet getting burned on the hot pavement. I run into the local cafe and order an ice-cream soda.

I sit there at the counter, fiddling with the corner of my blouse. That was annoyingly convenient, that he just happened to be there to catch me. What if he hadn't? What if he gave up and went inside and I fell and died or became paralyzed?

I realize now that despite all the horrible damage he's done to me, in just three days of knowing him I already owe Indiana Jones my life.

It would have been simpler if he had just dropped me.

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**A/N: Reviews don't write themselves people!! You want more shorts I need at least ten reviews!!**


	7. Library Conversations

I'm sitting in the University Library doing two things at the same time:

1) Searching for a new mystery book to read. As I said, I will not subject myself to the pain and agony of trashy romance.

2) Escaping the wrath of my father; I broke the Grecian discus in the ballroom. I can't help it if I tripped over my own feet and knocked it over in my attempts to stay upright!

I'm scanning the shelves that I know so well, unable to find a mystery that I haven't read. I decide to make my way over to the adventure section. Robinson Crusoe, the Black Arrow, Treasure Island, I've read them all. But just because I like it so much, I pull out Treasure Island and make my way over to my favorite comfy chair. I settle myself in it and open my book up to the first page.

For about half an hour or so, I'm completely into it, despite the fact that I've read the book five times already. But while ending chapter four, I get the strangest feeling that I'm being watched. I scan the room over and find it's completely empty except for the old librarian dusting the reading lamps.

I begin chapter five, but the feeling just won't go away. I look up and find someone standing over me.

"Treasure Island? That's a classic." A familiar voice says above me.

I look up and inwardly groan. Jones, again.

"What do you want?" I ask, going back to my book.

"To talk. You owe me that much." He says, not even cracking a smile.

Another inward groan. I do owe this stupid ass my life, the least I could do is let him talk to me.

"Alright, talk." I say, walking over to a nearby desk and seating myself in it.

"Uhhhh...in a library?" He asks uneasily, glancing around us.

"I'm not leaving until Abner promises not to send me to summer school for something I clearly didn't do." I snap back.

"What did you do?' He asks.

"Broke the Grecian discus that was displayed in the ballroom!" I say loudly, as if he didn't now.

"SSHHHH!!" The librarian stage whispers at us.

Jones sits next to me and absentmindedly picks up my copy of 'Pride and Prejudice'.

"Is this yours?" He asks quietly, waving it in front of my face.

"Yes." I whisper back, slapping his hand out of my face. "I tried selling it to the library but they already have twenty copies and every student I offered it to for free had their own copy. I tried reading it earlier but nearly died of hopeless boredom. It's a piece of crap novel."

Jones looks at me for a minute and then bursts out laughing.

"What's so funny?" I inquire, thoroughly perturbed.

"You." He says, taking a deep breath to steady his laughter.

I stare at him open mouthed for a brief moment, completely pissed off. Then, as calm as possible, I gather my books and walk out of the library, leaving him to his hilarious and charming (note the sarcasm there) self.

I tell you, I've met a lot of jerky guys in my life span of seventeen years, but this jerk has definitely made me the angriest I've ever been. He makes it so easy for me to hate him!

And sadly, he probably makes it easy for everyone else to hate him as well.

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**Some of you reviewers have asked me why Marion is so immature and crazy. Let me remind you that she is a teenager, not an adult. Plus, Indiana is freaking her out because eventually, (we all know this), they are going to fall in love and she'll eventually settle down. But for now, she's going to be insane. Over dramatic and crazy. **

**REVIEW!!**


	8. Laughter

**This is a random short, but get used to it, because a lot of these will be just snippets of her getting to know Indy. They may not make sense, but in the end, it'll all come together, you'll see!**

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I'm walking down the hallway on a Tuesday afternoon and suddenly hear a bark of laughter reverberating the walls. Unlike Abner's (the short-lived, booming type), this laugh is loud, slightly obnoxious but pleasant all the same. It sounds mature and secure, something I've always wanted to be.

As quietly as possible, I open door of Abner's study to a crack and peep through.

Jones and Abner are sitting in chairs playing a game of chess. Jones face is alight with laughter as my father tells an archaeologist's joke that only nerds like them understand.

I'm surprised that I didn't notice his laughter at the Library the other day. How could I have missed it?

His laughter warms me on the inside and I'm tempted to join in with it, but before I do, I catch myself.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I run back to my room and lay restlessly on my bed. I feel like banging my head on the wall. I'm so aggravated.

The memory of his laughter is the sole thing that gets me to drift off into a fitful sleep.


	9. Heated Discussions

I'm feeling spontaneous and curious today. I'm in a good mood, having just eaten a humongous breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast with blue berry jam and hash browns.

I bounce into the study, twirling around in circles when I should probably be doing homework. I see Jones sitting in an arm chair with a book and decide to bug him. An evil, diabolical plan formulates in my head and I walk over to him, putting on a total act of innocence.

"What are you reading?" I ask, seating myself at his feet, which are HUGE, might I add.

"The History of Tanis." He says, looking rather proud of himself.

"What's your name again?" I ask, twisting a lock of hair on my finger.

He looks rather put out by the fact that I don't 'remember' his name.

"Indiana Jones." He says, turning back to his mammoth sized book.

"What kind of name is Indiana?" I ask, rather loudly despite my being a mere three feet from him.

He places his book down and glares at me for a while.

"A special one." He answers. "What kind of name is Marion?"

"A unique one." I answer back coolly. "Besides, Indiana sounds like a dog's name."

"It is the name of a dog." He says through gritted teeth.

I can't help it, I burst out laughing before I can stop myself. I roll around the floor in mirth until he cuts me off.

"Did you know that Marion was the third queen of Persia, who slept with her maids, who I might add were women as well?"

That shuts me up, and he walks out of the room, laughing his head off. I'm left in the room, stumped.

"Damn you, Indiana Jones." I say, pouting at the rug. I then get up and follow him out the door.

"That wasn't very nice you know!" I shout, running after him.

"Since when have you ever been nice?" He asks, still wearing that ridiculous smile of his.

Ouch. He has a point there.

"You're the one who came here and interrupted my perfectly normal life!" I shout back, feeling the beginning of rage boil up inside of me.

"Oh yeah? Well, you tell me where I'm supposed to go after leaving my own house because my dad doesn't even want me!" He says, now looking even more angry than I.

I feel a pang of sympathy in my chest but refuse to let it show.

"At least you've got my dad to make up for it!" I scream, now losing all sense of dignity and getting right in his face.

"You're a pretty girl, I'm sure you can manage to find another guy to protect you and make you feel actually wanted." He says, towering over my puny height.

That does it. The invisible string inside of me snaps and before I know it, I'm swinging my fist at his jaw. It is a perfect aim. Seconds later I hear a smashing sound and a grunt of pain.

I swing back again but this time he grabs my wrist. I try to wrench my arm away but he holds me still and says quietly, "What the hell do you think you are doing? I didn't come here to ruin your life, I just came to learn things. Maybe if you'd stop being a bitch and listen to me you wouldn't judge me so much."

The word 'bitch' hits me hard. My lip trembles and a lump rises in my throat. I've never been so angry and upset in my life. We're staring at each other, fury written in both of our eyes.

"You bastard!" I yell. "You have no right to chastise me for simply defending what I care about. I-"

But I'm cut of by the booming voice of Abner, who I'm guessing has been standing in the doorway for some time.

"Marion Ravenwood and Indiana Jones, stop fighting!" He yells, which silences both of us immediately.

I'm guessing it's a rather peculiar scene. I'm standing right next to Jones and we're both pink in the face from yelling and his jaw is already sporting a large bruise.

"Indy, go have Ben tend to that bruise. I will not see either of you at dinner tonight. You will eat in your rooms. Lessons are cancelled for the next two days and so is school. But don't think that is all, both of you will be carrying out a number of chores. No excuses. Now each of you, go to your rooms."

And with that, Abner walks out. I'm breathing hard and I can't help but shake with even more fury.

I look at Jones one more time, making sure to put plenty of hatred into the look, and then storm out of the hallway, furiously wiping tears from my cheeks.

I think he's the first person I've ever met who can send me from a happy mood to a raging mood in a mere five minutes.


	10. Talking to the Wall

I've resorted to taking refuge in my room again. I wish I didn't have to, it's all stuffy in here, but it's the only place I can go. I'm restricted from going to Carrie's house or any other place besides my room. I could probably sneak down to the kitchens, but I'm so angry that I'd probably throw up anything I eat.

Twenty minutes ago I had the biggest argument of my life. And now that it's over, I just want to do nothing more than go back and do it again. I want to bang his head into the ceiling and let him hang there.

I turn to the wall and decide to try an exercise that always calmed me down when I was little.

Talking to the wall.

I know its insane but I can always get my feelings out. I just pretend that the wall is the person I'm mad at. And then I yell at them.

I closed my eyes and imagine Indiana Jones sitting in front of me. His cocky grin on and his hair as messy and as un-tame able as ever. I imagine him laughing at some stupid joke Abner would tell him. And then I speak.

"Why did you call me a bitch?"

He looks at me, confused.

"It hurts. I know I don't act like it does, but I hate it when people don't like me. I've always found myself to be a love-able person."

He now gives my that look that clearly says 'doubtful'.

"Okay, maybe I'm not as love-able as some other girls, but I can be sweet. Honest. Here, let me compliment you. I like your hair and your laugh."

The cocky grin is back and he raises his eyebrows.

"It's not like I have a crush on you or something. I just find you kind of cute, in your own geeky way."

I clamp my hand over my mouth as soon as I hear what I say.

"But...but I hate you! You make me so pissed that I sometimes can't bear to be near you!" I shout.

A roll of the eyes now. Oh, he is good.

"I just miss Abner...dad." I find myself whispering. "I miss mom. And then you come along and I'm just...lost. And angry and territorial."

He looks sympathetic now. A small smile resides in the corners of his lips.

Then suddenly, I realize that something is wrong with me. I'm confessing my innermost secrets to a wall who I'm imagining as my worst enemy who I just slugged. In my shock, I fall off the bed on my ass. I lie on the floor and stare at the window. I'm going insane, being locked up in my room. I know it.

I stand up and stare at the door. Part of me wants to go and apologize to Jones, while the other is screaming to sit and sulk.

I decide to take a bath before I go to bed. Obviously, dinner should be up soon and I won't be going anywhere until our chores are assigned.

As I slip into the tub and let the warm water cover my body, I vaguely wonder what the real Indiana Jones would have said if I had the same conversation with him that I had with my wall. Would he care? Would he see me differently?

I shake my head, who cares anyway?

* * *

**OOOHHHH...SEE? the tensions are settling already and you are starting to dip into Marion's real emotions. This was slightly angsty but still fun to write. Please review!!**


	11. Silences

Our first chore of two days of chores is to polish the silver in the dining hall.

We've been here for over two hours now, completely incapable of talking. I'm sweating like crazy in the heat of the afternoon and I feel all grimy and nasty. Even with my jeans and button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up I'm still hotter than hell.

Jones is across the room from me, working on the silver statue of Aphrodite. Now, he probably understands why I don't care if this stuff breaks a lot. It's a total waste of time to clean this junk!!

We had a lunch of a loaf of bread and cheese about a half an hour ago. It was totally awkward, neither of us saying a word in our stubborn anger. I'm still starving though.

I take a minute to wipe sweat from my brow and rest. I stare defiantly out the window, trying to concentrate on the branches of my tree. But, I can't take it any longer. I fumble with my polish cloth and 'accidentally' knock it off the chair I'm sitting on. As I bend over to pick it up, I sneak a glance at Jones for the first time this day as he continues to polish the Aphrodite statue.

He looks just as dirty and sweaty as I do. I notice his glasses aren't on today. I marvel at the change in his face. Without the glasses, he almost looks like a totally different guy. I continue to watch him from my seat until he turns around and looks at me. The minute our eyes meet I become flustered and turn away.

I go back to polishing. I can barely stand the silence. Its deafening. It fills my head like an unpleasant memory or thought. I close my eyes and try to calm my frantic thoughts. I've got this feeling that the silence is out to kill me or something. I think I have a mental disorder, maybe paranoia or claustrophobia. I promise to myself to find what it is later.

I turn and find Jones staring at me. I glare at him, and this time he's the one who turns away flustered.

It irks me when he looks at me.

I feel too...exposed. For some odd reason.

I finish the dish I'm working on and place it back into the cabinet it's displayed in. I take a deep breath and grab another dish, really not happy that there are twelve more artifacts to polish after this one.

I just wish Abner could have at least separated us, so I didn't have to deal with these uncomfortable silences.

I look back at Jones just one more time and find that one side of his face is swollen and completely black and blue from where my fist made contact with it yesterday.

I smile to myself. I start to believe that these silences were worth it.

* * *

**Another short useless short that just adds some clues here and there. Pay attention people, you may miss important details. By the way, these chapters are supposed to be short. That's why they are called SHORTS. And just to please you all, this story is going to consist of 100 shorts. So, unlike the average story of twenty chapters, this one has many many short chapters. I love you all who review!!**


	12. Telephone Woes

When the first chore is done, Jones and I are allowed to rest for a half hour until the next chore. I quietly run into the main hallway and fiercely grab the telephone, seating myself on the floor.

I dial the only number I know by heart and wait for it to pick up.

"Carrie?" I ask, when I hear the click of the receiver being lifted up.

"Marion?" She asks back.

Relief sweeps over me and I can't help myself from spilling completely.

"Oh, Carrie, it's awful. You know that student my father has got, this Indiana Jones? Well, he's horrible. I hate him so much that yesterday we got into this tumultuous fight and I punched his lights out and-..."

"You slugged a twenty six year old man?" She asks, clearly impressed.

"Well, yeah, but I-."

"How tall is he?"

"About six foot something."

"And you're what, five foot one?"

"And a half!" I add.

"Well, what happened after that?" She asks.

"Abner saw the whole thing, canceled school for two days and assigned us to multiple chores to do together, IN THE SAME BLOODY ROOM!"

"Wow. That sucks for you." She says, sympathy clear in her voice.

"I know. He makes me so mad, Carrie, you have no idea. And just twenty minutes ago, we were working together and we weren't even talking. It was so uncomfortable. It was awful."

"Why don't you just shove him off a cliff and be done with it?" She offers, completely serious. (We talk about killing people we dislike all the time. It releases hateful feelings.)

"It's not that simple, you see." I say, and then, leaning closer to the phone, I whisper, "He's kind of cute."

"Really?" Carrie asks, intrigued.

"Really. He's not like the other nerds that Abner teaches. He's got class, a sense of humor and this really nice sounding laugh and-." I stop, completely shocked at what I am saying.

"So, you like him?"

"Of course not! I despise him!" I yell into the phone, probably blowing her ear drum out. "I'm just saying he's one of those people that sticks in your mind. You'll know when you meet him."

"I'm going to meet him?!" She yells excitedly, letting off a squeal of delight.

"It's not that big of a deal." I grumble, wishing I hadn't said anything. Carrie's like that. Boy crazy. Independent, but still boy crazy.

"When? When can I meet him?" She asks.

"You won't like him." I protest. "He's totally not our type."

"Speak for yourself. I happen to like wise men. May I remind you it was you that had a crush on a total idiot, Brandon Marlo?"

"That was the sixth grade!" I defend.

"It still counts!" She cackles.

Suddenly, Jones walks into the room. His hands are in his pockets and his glasses-less eyes are trained on the floor.

"I have to go Carrie." I whisper.

"Talk to you later Marion Marlow!" She shouts. (We both know that I hate that last name, seeing as the boy it belonged to thought I was too skinny to date)

I hang up the phone and remain in my hiding spot, determined not to be seen by Jones. But then, my stupid nose has to start itching. And before I know it, I let out a extremely loud sneeze for a girl my size.

Jones looks down at me just as he passes me. We stare at each other for a while, me putting plenty of reproach in my stare. After about ten seconds, he shakes his head aggravatingly and walks away, leaving me on the floor.

I sneeze again, not bothering to try and hold it back. I glare at the phone.

I blame the telephone, I must be allergic to it.

Stupid phone.

* * *

**Useless shorts are going to be common for a while and so is silence. Obviously, it won't last forever but something will happen eventually. Maybe not something extremely romantic, but definitely something to advance the hate-hate relationship. Hinthint. And I also want to add that the telephone WAS around in the 20's so no one question that. Review PLEEEAAASSSE!**


	13. Mops

Our next chore is to mop the ballroom floors. Which I might add are the size of BUCKINGHAM PALACE!!

So, we're both standing here with mops, working our way from one end of the ballroom to the other. It's about eleven at night and we've been in here for FOUR HOURS already. I swear I'm going to lose it. Maybe, for revenge against Abner, I can break some more Babylonian vases in the hallway. Maybe...

Jones and I still aren't talking. Fine, Jones. I don't want to talk to you. You and your stupid arrogant mouth. I want nothing to do with you.

Oh, but the silence is killing me!!

I refuse to talk first.

That would mean weakness. That would mean he is the dominant species.

I refuse to back down at all.

Jones leaves to go to the bathroom. Either that or he's merely a lazy bum who is slacking on the job.

I ask Ben quietly once Jones leaves the room.

Nope, its the bathroom.

I begin to mop again, swirling the thing around and around in circles. I feel like actually laughing, because its so fun to make patterns on the floor with soapy water. I decide to pretend that I am at a royal ball.

I'm wearing a beautiful gown of many colors. My hair is perfectly tamed and up in a tight bun. All the lords and ladies are amazed by the way I look, but while the Ladies scoff in jealously, the Lords line up to dance with me.

I accept the handsomest of the bunch, a tall fellow with light brown, messy hair. He seems familiar, but I can't place his name, seeing as I've met so many Lords and Ladies in the royal family of England.

I curtsy and he bows, a very majestic bow. We then begin to dance, moving across the floor. The King and Queen even marvel at our technique. We are graceful and refined and perfect.

Then, as soon as I see myself getting carried off in the Lord's arms, I smack into the wall of the bathroom. The mop falls to the floor with a clatter. I stumble a few feet back, clutching my nose, which feels badly bruised, if not broken.

"Stupid stupid stupid!" I yell at myself, pissed for letting my imagination get the best of me.

I turn and find Jones in the doorway, the most bemused of expressions on his face. He's actually smiling at me. SMILING. AT. ME.

And here I am, a bruise on my nose and a mop at my feet.

But he doesn't say a word. He just picks up his mop and starts working on the floor again.

Trying to erase the blush from my cheeks, I pick up my mop as well and face the opposite direction of Jones.

We finish at twelve thirty at night. I'm so tired I can sleep while standing up. I trudge up the stairs to my room, my joints sore and my eyes drooping. I jump on my bed and am asleep in a minute.

I just pray to God that the last couple chores aren't this embarrassing.

My dreams occupy the Lord that I 'danced with' in the ballroom. He looks far too familiar. But before I can ask him his name, I wake up, having to bathe, get dressed and mentally prepare myself for the day to come.


	14. Sedatephobic

An uncomfortable breakfast is occurring this morning. I'm directly across from Jones and next to Abner. Abner is supposedly 'punishing us' by refusing to talk to us.

I have found that I am a sedatephobic, a person who has a fear of silences. I happen to have more flaws than people actually think.

The silence is unbearable and I feel like I'm going to die from suffocation. I close my eyes to concentrate and while doing so, let the jar of marmalade fall from my hand onto the floor with a crash.

The noise is music to my ears and I can't help but burst into laughter. Abner looks at me if I'm insane and Jones just rolls his eyes at me.

"Marion, may I ask what your problem is with breaking everything you touch?" Abner asks, staring pitifully at me.

I look for a moment at my marmalade-less toast sitting on my plate.

"You see, Abner, " I say, wiping hysterical tears from my eyes, "I happen to be a sedatephobic and I can't have silence for more than five minutes or I will pass out. And accidents seem to be the only way to cure that because no way am I talking to either with you."

And with that, I walk as quickly as possible out of the dining room, leaving a bewildered Abner and Jones behind.

I spend the remaining hours of free time (before I have to start heinous chore number one: dusting every shelve in the house) in the kitchen, snacking on cookie dough and writing a letter to Harold Oxley.

You see, Oxley is like my older brother. Another Archaeologist nerd, he comes about once every year for the holiday's, but otherwise he's out on excavational business. And no, we are not lovers. And we both agree that our only feelings towards one another are those of brother and sister. Anyways, I give the letter to Ben so he can send it and then climb back up the stairs, trying to drown out the silence by humming a song in my head and stomping on the hard wooden floor.

Maybe that's why I never like to stop yelling and talking...


	15. Spying on the Enemy

While dusting the library, I decide to keep and eye on Jones, to make sure that he's actually doing his job and dusting. I'm standing on the sliding ladder on the top step. As I'm dusting Abner's entire encyclopedia section, I hear laughter in the Northern corners of the Library, just a few shelves ahead of me.

I stand on my very tiptoes to peek over the top of the shelf. There is Jones, standing with one of the house maids, I think her name is Miranda. I can tell that she's putting on the flirty act (her eyelashes are batting and everything) and he's putting on the smooth and cool look (the hand through the hair, I would recognize that anywhere).

He's leaning into her and whispering in her ear while she is giggling flirtatiously and trying to swat his hands away from her waist. I'm fairly revolted that both of them are doing this, and I'm enraged that Jones is slacking on the job while I'm working my ass off.

Oh, shit.

They're kissing now. He probably doesn't even know her name and he's kissing the bloody life out of her. Her hands are tangling in his hair and I find that his hair isn't nice looking anymore. Especially with her snaky hands in it.

A plan begins to form in my head. I look at the duster in my hand and estimate it's weight and identify how much force I'll need to get it directly projected at the back of his head.

I throw it with all my might.

My aim is perfect. I never see it hit his head, but guessing by the squeal of surprise and the loud "OW! What the..?" that sounds from that side of the library, I hit my target.

Then, as quickly as I can, I hop down from my ladder and walk up to the confused couple, both who are looking very mussed.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I simper at Miranda, completely ignoring Jones. "I just got so caught up in my work that I lost my grip of the duster!"

I pick it up, careful to shake more dust all over Jones.

"Well." I say with a giggle. "See ya."

And with that, I walk out of the library into the next room to dust, nearly cackling with laughter as I leave a bewildered Jones and bimbo behind.

No on should ever dare to mess with me, Marion Elena Ravenwood, and my life.

If you do, you'll just get covered in million year old dust.

Ha.

* * *

**I'm only posting these to today because tomorrow I'm posting a lot of shorts. More than usual. Review!**


	16. Dishes

Our next job is to do the days worth of dishes.

Personally, I'd rather shoot myself.

We report at the kitchens at ten o clock at night, once all the chefs and servants have gone home. We are given eight bars of soap, two sponges and one large sink. And a million quadrillion dishes.

But the fact I'm most peeved about is that I'm tired as hell, and Abner expects me to be a good little girl and do the dishes with Jonesie.

Needless to say, I show up in a completely vile mood.

Jones looks like he just woke up, and is blinking like an owl. I hypothesize that he was sleeping with little 'Miranda' again, the arrogant bastard.

I fill the sink with water, sticking four of the eight soap bars in it to get it nice and soapy. I begin to scrub the first dish while Jones works on the second. It's so tantalizing, the thought of breaking all these dishes in half.

Jones, for reasons I really don't know, is talking to himself, marveling at the 'craftsmanship' of these plates. I look at the plate in my hand, expecting it to sing a song or something. But all I see is a porcelain plate with horrible painted flowers on the ridges.

Jones is telling himself that they are Persian Artifacts. It figures, most of the stuff in this damned house are artifacts. His enthusiasm over a common household thing is aggravating me, so just to see how he responds, I drop a plate on the floor.

This wasn't planned, mind you. I tripped over my own feet and somehow, my wish to do Jones ill will came true. The reaction was instantaneous. He got this look on his face as if he lost a child and began picking up at the pieces.

I, not bothering to apologize, picked a few pieces up as well, and in the process, cut my finger open.

"Shit." I mutter, sucking the blood that is dripping from the cut. Not like vampire sucking, just get-this-nasty-ass-blood-off-me sucking.

Jones looks over at me, and for a minute, I think he's going to ask me if I need a bandage. He opens his mouth.

"How could you break this? Why?"

My hopes plummet from the sky and I decide that it is time to leave. I storm out into the backyard and climb up my tree faster than a spider monkey. Damn Abner and his rules, I want to be up here and so I will be.

And it turns out, to my unfortunate luck, Jones wants to be up here to.


	17. Invasion of the Tree

My tree is under invasion.

"Hey, is there a reason you came storming up this tree?" He asks, climbing up after me.

"I'll push you, I really will!" I warn, going as far up the tree as I can.

He tisks. "I'm not afraid of you, Ravenwood."

I hop down to the branch he's on, my eyes dangerously narrowed.

"Why ever not? You know from personal experience that my bite is worse than my bark." I say, gesturing to his chin.

He rolls his eyes. "This?" He asks, pointing at the bruise I gave him. "You think that the fact that you're the only girl I've ever met who can punch like a guy will intimidate me?"

"It should." I say.

"Let me tell you something, sister. I know that you are a one of a kind girl. But, seeing as I'm a one of a kind guy, you can't intimidate me. I'm pretty used to getting punched around."

He's trying to come off as not caring, I can tell.

But, I happen to have an ace up my sleeve.

"You may have been punched before, but have you ever been pushed out of a tree?" I ask with a malicious smile.

His eyes widen. "You wouldn't."

"Wanna bet?" I challenge him, already preparing to push.

He obviously can tell the end is near for him.

"Any last words, Jonesie?" I ask.

"Did I tell you that you're mean?" He asks.

"Did I tell you that you're arrogant, self centered and annoying?" I shoot back.

He mimes an arrow hitting him in the chest.

And then tumbles backwards.

OFF THE BLEEDING TREE!!


	18. Accusations

If I had known that he was going to fall, I would have screamed like a maniac. It seemed to go in slow motion.

I scrambled down the ladder in a panic to find him safely standing on the ground.

I'm breathing hard and my heart is beating louder than a stampede of Indian Elephants.

He dusts his pants off and grins at me.

"Miss me, Ravenwood?"

I can do nothing but gawk at him for a full five seconds.

But he...

The tree...

I...

I run over to him and slap his shoulder. Hard.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"For faking your own tragic death!" I berate.

"I thought it would be fun!" He protests.

I'm silent for a minute. But then I poke him in the chest.

"You. Are. Infuriating." I tell him, putting extra emphasis on each word.

"What is that supposed to be, some kind of declaration?" He asks irritably.

"No, my dear Jones. That is an accusation."

Then he does something that really irks me. He pokes ME in the shoulder.

"You. Are. Insane." He says right back.

"Oh, is that your accusation to me?" I ask, drawing back from his poke.

"Yes. Got a problem with that?" He replies.

I stalk out of the backyard and into the kitchens.

Damn you, Indiana Jones, why must you vex me?

* * *

**Hey, these shorts are extremely short. But remember, its the quality, not the quantity! Okay, I will stop babbling and start smiling if you please drop off a little review. POR FAVOR!!**


	19. Suds

Oh, I am seething mad.

So. Mad.

But, the entire feeling of anger throughout my body is replaced with a new feeling as I enter the kitchen.

Replaced with what? might you ask.

Horror.

Apparently, both Jones and I forgot to turn the sink off. The sink with four bars of soap in it and the water on full blast!

The entire kitchen is covered is suds. Soapy, watery, flower scented suds.

I already start to write my Will inside my head.

_I, Marion Ravenwood, being of sound mind and body._

Abner, the chef, and everyone else in this house who benefits from a clean, spotless, orderly, kitchen are going to KILL ME!

_Hereby bequeath all of my belongings to Carrie Smithers._

Jones is standing next to me, shock written on his face as well.

_The end. _

So, knowing that I'm going to die tomorrow anyways, I wade my way over to the sink, grab a dish and hurl it as Jones' head.

"ARE YOU MAD?" He yells furiously, dodging the plate as it smashes into the wall.

"No, just angry!" I yell back.

I stride over to him, ready to punch the other side of his face when all of a sudden he sticks a clump of suds on my head.

I am now drenched in soap bubbles and gasping for air.

As maturely as possible, I grab a pile of suds and stick them all over HIS head, just to see how he likes it.

"This is all your fault!" I wail as I shove the bubbles on him.

"My fault?" He questions, sticking for suds DOWN MY SHIRT, ignoring my loud shriek.

Before I can try to gain control of the situation, were in a full on soap water fight, the still running sink and broken dishes completely forgotten.

There is no more rule of personal space anymore, as long as we can get soap on each other, it's fine. I even get some suds down his pants.

Suddenly, we both grab each others arms in an attempt to stop one another and gain balance.

But you know me, always the clumsy one. I manage to slip and fall o my ass, bringing Jones down with me.

We're both lying on our backs breathing hard.

I realize how absolutely stupid we must look, covered in suds and water, and a small giggle erupts in the back of my throat. It comes out before I can stop it.

Next thing I know, I'm laughing my head off, rolling around in the suds with tears pouring down my cheeks. And Jones is laughing along with me. It's contagious. We can't control ourselves. It's like a disease we can't get rid of.

We're laughing for reasons I don't even understand. My sides feel like they're splitting.

We finally manage to stand up without collapsing into another fit of laughter.

I look around the kitchen, which looks like the soap monster went through it. I smile, despite the fact that I know I'll be dead by this time tomorrow.

Jones smiles at me and extends a soap lathered hand.

I beam back at him as we share a sudsy handshake, and then we start to clean up.

So, all in all, Indiana Jones and I are no longer enemies.

But that doesn't mean I necessarily LIKE him.


	20. Grades

Oh. My. Word.

I failed my latest history test.

Failed.

And of course, this does not upset my life balance whatsoever because my father just so happens to have about TEN BILLION DEGREES IN THE BLOODY SUBJECT!

My teacher, who is 'alarmed' at my grades lately, has been kind enough to notify Abner on the latest grade.

Needless to say, I'm screwed.

I can't help that I failed that stupid test. I took it on the very day after the suds incident. I was half asleep, having stayed up all night cleaning up the kitchens with Jones so I could remain living instead of dead. But then, if I tell Abner that's the reason I failed the test, then I will be grounded double time. Which sucks because I was rather liking not having to hide in my room anymore.

I am summoned to Abner's office shortly after dinner, which he wasn't at. Jones and I sat silently, not really knowing what to say. I couldn't help but notice that we both smelt of soap as we sat down.

Anyway, I lumber into the office, looking bummed and bored, just to tick Abner off.

"You rang?" I ask, opening the door and closing it a little too loudly.

"Sit." He commands, not even looking up from his papers with God-knows-what written on them.

I sit and stare blankly at the floor.

"You're gradually failing History." He points out, still not looking at me.

"Yes." I confirm, you know, just in case he doesn't know. I'm nice that way.

"I expect that to change." He says.

"How?" I ask, tapping my foot impatiently on the desk.

"Either study harder or get a tutor."

"I'll pick the studying, if you don't mind." I say, wincing at the memories of the previous tutors I've had. One guy was so desperate for a girl that he asked me to sleep with him on the second lesson. Mind you, I was fourteen and he was thirty something. Disgusting. But damn good practice for my upper left hook punches.

"Marion," He begins, taking off his glasses and finally turning his attention to me, "History runs in your blood. Your mother loved it, I love it and soon you must follow. You know that, don't you?"

I choose not to answer, and pick at the corner of the desk quietly.

"Someday, you will understand how important it is." He says, going back to his affairs.

"Will I Abner?" I ask. "I don't think I could ever understand why someone would waste their life looking for one thing while completely ignoring what they already had."

He is silent for a moment. But with a clear of the throat, he says, "Marion, those grades better come up or you WILL be going to summer school."

I walk out of the office and run for my tree.

But oddly enough, someone is already up there.


	21. Apples

"What the hell are you doing up in my tree?" I ask, climbing up and finding Jones on MY preferred branch.

"Thinking." He says.

"And eating a basket of apples." I laugh, gesturing at the basket of them in his lap.

"Want one?" He asks, tossing one to me before I answer.

"So...Jones...why do you like history?" I ask conversationally, taking a bite of my apple.

"I like it because it gives me something to look forward to. I didn't have much at home, so history was like an escape."

"But it's so...boring." I protest.

"Not if you look at it from the right angle. Sure, parts of it are boring as hell, but once you delve deeper, into the truth, and I don't mean the crap they teach at high school, you find something worthwhile."

I'm amazed that those words come out of the mouth of a twenty six year old man who kisses random bimbo maids in Libraries.

"Wow." I say, looking blatantly at the half eaten apple in my hands.

We sit for a few minutes in contented silence, and then I start to climb down.

"Where are you going?" He asks, looking genuinely sad that I'm leaving.

"To do homework. I'll see ya later, Jones." I yell, seeing as I'm now at the bottom of the tree.

I finish my apple, finding that it is a more enjoyable fruit today than usual.


	22. Banging

**Just to clear it up, the title of this short was not meant in an inappropriate manner. You dirty minded people...**

* * *

I'm sitting up in my room on a cool April night trying to do homework.

It's hopeless.

I mean, who cares who shot Alexander Hamilton? Is that going to save someone when they are stranded in the middle of nowhere dying of thirst?

No, its not.

My paper is blank. I have ten questions to answer before I go to bed and I can't answer a single one of them.

I give up.

I toss my stuff aside and try to bring my brain back from wherever it went.

I bang my head on the wall.

It starts as a small thump, and then gradually escalates to a hard, severe crash on the wall.

Screw the fact that its an hour past midnight, I can't bloody make my mind work!

My door opens but I do not hear it.

"Marion?"

It's Jones. I turn around, probably looking like an utter IDIOT with the growing red mark on my forehead from the impact with the wall.

"What?" I ask, not meaning to sound irritable but doing so anyway.

"Are you umm...alright? Shouldn't you be asleep?"

I realize that I probably woke him up, seeing as his room is right below mine.

"Yeah, I just can't do my homework and my mind won't work." I say, pouting up at him.

"Well, try doing it in the morning. I always find that sleeps help my mind work." He says, pulling me up off my feet by my hands.

"Okay." I say, stifling a tremendous yawn.

"Alright then, I'll see you tomorrow." He says, walking out my door and nodding his head in my direction.

"Will do." I say, giving a feeble wave.

As he walks out, I throw myself onto my bed, banging my head rather sharply on my bed's headboard.

Ouch.

* * *

**Please review! Let me know if there are any typos or mistakes and I will fix them immediately. I would be much obliged if you would just click that little button in the corner. Its calling your name, you know it!**


	23. Tardiness

I'm late to history class the next day.

I'm LATE to the one class I'm failing.

Ugh.

I stumble into the class, out of breath, but extremely satisfied.

It turns out, Jones' technique DID work. I was so happy when I woke up this morning and was able to answer the ten questions to the best of my ability.

It was a nice feeling, you know.

"Miss Ravenwood. Please take your seat." My teacher, Mr. Barns, says in a nasal tone.

I walk to my seat, shooting glares at the giggles from the students around me.

Mr. Barns follows me to my seat and looks expectantly at me, but saying nothing.

"Yes?" I ask, trying to remain polite, though bitingly so.

"Your homework, Miss Ravenwood, or have you forgotten it again?"

I take it out of my bag. "I happened to finish it Mr. Barns. I think you'll find the answers satisfactory."

He snatches the paper from my hand and walks back to his desk, where he sits.

"Tardiness is not a virtue class. It will haunt you if you make it a daily routine." He drones to the class, giving me most of the many death glares.

I sink lower in my seat, meaning my bum is almost on the floor. I try to avoid the weird looks from my classmates, especially the girls who look up to me because I'm an independent woman.

I glance over at Carrie, and almost laugh when I find that she is crossing her bright blue eyes at me, just to be spiteful. I stick my tongue out back as I reply.

History classes are always more durable if you have a friend to screw around with during them.

* * *

**A/N: This is another useless short, just dipping into Marion's social life with little mention of Indy. It may be like that with some of these. Too much romance is not good for the soul, you know!**


	24. Notes

Later in the week, I'm sitting in math class, bored as hell. I'm writing my name over and over on my notebook when I should be asking myself, what is the square root of pie and cubed eighty million?

Suddenly, just when I start to go into a stupor, a piece of paper is thrown on my desk from behind me. As quietly and minutely as possible, I open the paper.

_I'm bored as hell. You? -Carrie_

I smile to myself and scrawl a reply, before passing it behind my back to her.

**Same here. I hate math, but not as much as history. -Marion**

A minute later, the note is back.

_So, judging by your grudgingly pleasant mood, you and Indiana Jones are no longer scrapping? -C_

**Nope, and I'm rather proud we were able to get over ourselves. -M**

_You were the one who thought your life was under a hostile takeover, not him. -C_

**Maybe so, but he didn't like me much either. -M**

_But now he does! -C_

**Well, I guess. But its more of an acquaintance like relationship. Not particularly close. -M**

_That's what you say now...-C_

**I barely know anything about him! We just met! -M**

_Who cares? He's cute, isn't he? -C_

**Only slightly. And I wouldn't call it cute. I would say...classically handsome. -M**

_Wait, he has a beard? -C_

**EEWWW!! NO! But... I don't know. He looks like those action heroes we read about in Robin Hood and whatnot. -M**

_Except he's a nerdy archaeology professor. -C_

**Of course. -M**

_So, have you two talked since the suds incident? -C_

**Well, yeah! We've had a few friendly conversations. -M**

_But I mean like really talked. Like...close friend conversations. -C_

**Not really. I've got a busy life Carrie! My father's losing it, I'm losing it, I don't need another distraction. -M**

_Please spare me from the dramatics. Just get close to him. He may prove to be a valuable friend. -C_

**And you won't have a problem with it if I start ignoring you completely because I've got him? -M**

_Well, then I'll just have to kill both of you. Don't get in too deep, Marion. Lord knows what would happen to the world if Marion Ravenwood fell in love! -C_

**Whoa there!! I'm not falling in love any time soon! Not even getting into a dating relationship! Just friends! -M**

_You just wait, my pallie. -C_

I crumple the note up as the bell rings, dashing out the door and running home.

I re-read the note several times when I get to my room, completely analyzing it.

I come to a conclusion.

My best friend is completely insane.

* * *

**Just wanted to explain why I only have two shorts up today. I suck, but seeing as I've been do me so well, please feel free to forgive me. I am working on new shorts, but I'm having a spout of writers block today and my muse will not permit me to write another short. Sorry!**


	25. Freckles

Did I mention I have freckles?

They're awful.

I've got them all over my face, covering my cheeks like a disease.

I hate them.

I've tried everything to get rid of them, lemon juice, makeup, scrubbing, yet nothing will get rid of them.

I'm staring at my freckles one day and decide to ask an expert of high intelligence what to do about them.

I run down to the study where Jones is writing an essay.

"Jones, you're highly educated, right?"

He looks at me oddly.

"Yes." He answers.

"So, could you tell me how to get rid of my freckles?" I ask sweetly, sitting across from him.

"I'm an archaeologist, not a dermatologist." He says pointedly, giving me a small smile.

"And?" I ask expectantly.

"Why do you want to even get rid of your freckles?" He inquires, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

"They're atrocious." I sum up, making a nasty face.

He leans forward, running his eyes over my face.

"Nah," He says, "they're not bad. They make your eyes brighter, more attractive."

I can't help but blush furiously at the compliment.

"Thanks for helping." I mutter before dashing out of the room.

As I walk back to my room. I figure that freckles aren't all that bad after all...


	26. Maturity

Today I am going to act like a mature adult.

I'm not going to drop and break anything. I'm going to wear mature, womanly clothing. I'm not going to climb trees. I'm going to walk slowly and speak in a soft tone.

I start the mature day by walking out to breakfast clad in a skirt and blouse with nylons and high heels. Abner nods in approval. I glance at Jones and he is blinking at me confusedly, as if he's never seen a woman before.

Yes, I am a woman.

A mature, sophisticated, woman.

But suddenly, as I stand up from my chair, I hear a ripping sound. My skirt was caught on my heel and is now split up the side. I try to undo the skirt from my heel and my heel brakes. I start top topple over, but not before grabbing the table cloth in a vain attempt to stay upright. But of course, I bring the entire breakfast down with me.

My hair is mussed, my heel is broken, my skirt is ripped, and I'm covered in fried eggs. I try to keep from resorting to immature behavior. But, I just can't help it.

"SHIT!!" I wail, looking disgustedly at my ruined outfit.

I stand up, muttering about the suckishness of life.

"Don't worry Abner, I will clean up the mess." I say gloomily as teacher and pupil leave the room.

Figures. The one time I try to live up to Abner's expectations, I embarrass him immensely in front of Jones.

I guess I wasn't ever cut out to be mature and womanly.

Besides, who would want to be mature and sophisticated when you can be immature and wild?


	27. Sewing

I'm trying to sew my skirt back together.

It's not going very well, let me just say.

I probably should have listened in all those lessons I got when I was little. You know, those lessons that teach you certain skills that only women use. Well, it turns out I need those skills at the moment.

Great.

So, I'm sitting in the library, trying to stitch my skirt back up and I have no idea what I'm doing. My stitches are WAY too uneven and lumpy.

And I just stabbed my finger with the needle.

Ow. It's bleeding.

Crap.

I throw my skirt, needle, and thread across the room with a shout of anger.

I hate this.

"Need some help?" Says a voice from behind me.

"No. Unless you know how to sew well." I reply sulkily.

"Well, I can't say I know how to do that." Jones says, sitting next to me.

"I'm bleeding." I say lamely, incapable of forming a good conversation.

"Badly?" He asks worriedly, sitting forward to look over at my finger.

"No, it's just a prick." I say, snatching my hand away from him.

"Don't worry, I wasn't going to touch your hand." He says, leaning back in his seat.

"Good." I say, still not happy about my throbbing finger.

"Well, I'm sure you can find someone to mend that skirt for you." He says. "I think Miranda might know."

I start laughing. "No way am I asking Miranda for lessons, sewing or not. No thank you."

He takes a minute to get the hint. He obviously barely remembers that he just kissed Miranda a good two weeks ago in this very same library.

"Have fun sewing." He says after a moment of silence, walking out of the library.

I go to look for a bandage.

Sewing is not fun.


	28. Lounging

It's a weekend.

I deserve to relax.

I'm sprawled out on the couch in the sitting room, really enjoying the fact that I have no tests or assignments to worry about.

I feel another body enter the room and slump down on the couch opposite of me. I choose to keep my eyes closed, not curious at all who it is.

Okay, so maybe I am.

I peek a TINY bit and find Jones across from me, in an open, sleep-like position.

"Weekends are nice aren't they?" I ask, closing my eyes completely once more.

"Most certainly. I'm so tired."

"You said it." I reply.

We lie for a few more minutes.

"We never seem to get a break, do we?" I yawn, stretching like a cat.

He doesn't answer. I turn to him and find him asleep.

I close my eyes, deciding to sleep as well.

Even lounging can have it's interesting moments.

* * *

**Hey, just curious, but did any of you guys realize that I stuck a line from 'Raiders' in there? Marion says it, and I couldn't help but stick it in there because its a double situation. Let me know if you see it!!**


	29. Teatime

I'm in a reasonably pleasant mood on a Thursday afternoon.

I con Ben into letting me take Abner's tea to his study.

Careful not to drop the silver tea set (which I myself polished two weeks ago), I set off down the hallway.

I push the door to the study open and find Jones and Abner seated at a table, pouring over ancient looking pieces of paper written in some nonsense language that I'm glad I will never know.

"Ah, Marion." Abner says, beckoning me over. "Come and sit with us."

I sit awkwardly, feeling out of place with my jeans and shirt and them with their slacks and nice shirts. They serve themselves tea and I feel even more awkward.

"Tea, Marion?" Abner asks, offering me a full cup.

I feel there is something out of place about the way Abner glares at me as I accept the tea. The steeliness in his eye is more than usual.

"How is history class going?" He asks, turning back to the manuscripts.

"Umm...great!" I manage to squeak out, which is a total lie. I got a C- on the most recent pop quiz.

"Really? Because your teacher called today. You got a C minus on your latest quiz."

The tea cup slips out of my hand and clatters on the table, spilling hot liquid all over the manuscripts.

Both Jones and Abner give a cry of horror and leap upon the drenched papers, trying to restore them.

It is then that I realize that I am doomed.

"Marion Elena Ravenwood!"Abner splutters, nearing boiling point.

Not wanting to get more lectures on my never ending tendency to screw things up, I say, "Yeah, yeah, I'll go to my room and become a nun in the covenant. Shame on me."

I walk out of the room, my shoulders slumped.

Why do I have to always be the accidental one?


	30. Suicide by Cookie Dough

I've recently decided that I'm going to kill myself.

I have no purpose on this earth, really. My own FATHER forgot my birthday.

I'm a screw up, a mistake, a catachresis unto myself.

I go down to the kitchen and ponder the way in which I will kill myself. After hours of debating, I decide to eat myself to death.

At least I won't die hungry!

So, earlier on, I had the cook make some cookie dough, claiming I was going to bake cookies.

By now, I'm about half way through the entire bowl, and I'm not even full yet!

This is pathetic.

I am pathetic.

I groan as I spoon another bite in my mouth, enjoying the sweetness of the cookie dough.

Jones walks into the kitchen, takes one look at me, and asks, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm killing myself." I say defiantly, adjusting myself better on the counter.

"It's three in the morning." He points out.

"Good. That way I'll die with no one in my presence. Now go away." I snap, taking another sweet bite.

"Suicide by cookie dough?" He asks with a smile, gently removing the spoon and bowl from my hands.

"Yes." I confirm, though I never thought about it that way.

"Why?" He questions, seating himself on the counter next to me.

"I'm a mistake. Everything I do goes horribly. I screw EVERYTHING up." I explain, biting my lip to keep my eyes from watering.

He watches me struggle for a moment. And then lifts my chin up so I'm looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"Nah, you're not a mistake, Ravenwood." He says. "You're just at an awkward age to do anything perfectly."

"Oh yeah, you would know, Mr. Mature Man. You may be nine years older than me, but you're no wise one." I inform him, a single tear going down my cheek.

"There's the sardonic girl who likes to punch me that I know." He says, nudging me.

I look at him and give him a teary-eyed smile, feeling better already.

"Thanks." I say with a deep breath of air.

"Now," He continues, "Do you feel sick at all? You probably just ate your weight in cookie dough."

"Nope. I may be small but my stomach take up most of my body space." I reassure him.

We clean up the kitchen, (I'm not exactly a neat eater) and walk back to our rooms.

"Goodnight Jones. Thanks." I say sleepily, opening my door.

"It's Indy." He says.

"What?"

"Call me Indy." He repeats.

"Only if you call me Marion." I yawn.

"Fair enough."

I laugh at his openly amiable face.

"Goodnight, Indiana Jones." I say finally, shutting the door.

"Goodnight Marion." I hear through the door.

Indiana Jones...

Hm...

* * *

**Well, that was a rather lengthy update. Six shorts in one day! That sure makes up for the writers block! REVIEW OR DIE!! Hehe..death threats...gotta love them. :) Anyways, review and let me know of any typos in any chapters!**


	31. Studying

I am currently trying to study for my History Final, which is in a week.

I don't have to worry about the other finals, because I happen to have A's in all of those other classes and don't have to take the finals!

Ugh, but history class is another story.

Damn you, Mr. Barns, why do you have to torture me?

I'm going over the main terms in chapter eleven but nothing is being imprinted in my head, no matter how many times I read it over.

This. Is. Hopeless.

I glance out the window, wishing it was a sunny day so I could go up in my tree and think.

Then suddenly, I'm struck by an idea.

I grab my book and run down the stairs, tripping and bruising my knees twice on the way down. As I turn the corner, I bump into the very person I am looking for.

Okay, so maybe I didn't bump him, maybe I knocked us both flat with my tiny height. Either way, it wasn't fun.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry Indiana." I say, hoisting myself off the floor.

"It's okay." He grunts, clutching his nose painfully.

"Um...I've been looking for you." I say dumbly, holding my text book to my chest.

"And how may I be of service?" He says, giving a slight nod.

I take a deep breath, (this isn't kind of thing I'm used to doing, asking a man for help) . "I need you to tutor me. My history final is coming up and if I don't pass it, I really don't know what the hell I will do because I'll be stuck in summer school and my life will be ruined." I say, trying really hard not to sound whiny.

I expect him to not say anything. To walk away and ignore the stupid seventeen year old girl completely.

"Sure, I'll tutor you." He says, giving me a smile. "When do you want me to?"

At first I'm speechless, but I manage to find my voice. "Um... how about every night at six for a week. My final is in a week."

"Sure. I'll see you tonight Marion." He says, turning with a light grin.

I remain in the hallway as he walks away, the most dazed of expressions on my face.

Well then...that wasn't as hard as I thought.

* * *

**Special shout out to a anonymous reviewer who goes by the name of Morgaine, sorry for not updating yesterday, but I was working on today's batch of shorts!**


	32. Schoolyard Brawls

About five days before my final exam in History, I'm sitting out on the lawn in the schoolyard with a group of gaggling girls. Carrie is next to me, staring up at the sky like me, while all the girls fuss over me.

"Really Marion, you have SUCH pretty eyes, it's a miracle you don't enhance that feature with some eyeshadow." Brielle Martins says to me as she braids me hair.

"Sorry Brielle, but I really don't care what my eyes look like." I drawl, trying to make her stop fixing my hair.

"Marion, its a miracle all the guys aren't asking you to go out, you are so beautiful!" Marissa Hancock says, braiding the other side of my horrifying head of hair.

"It's only because the guys are terrified of her that she doesn't get asked out." Carrie points out, now assisting in the braiding of my hair.

I'm now unable to move, for the sake of having my hair pulled out of my head. I just lay and glare angrily at my friends, all of whom laugh at my pathetic attempts at actually being mad at them.

Suddenly, I'm allowed to stand up, finding my hair down in a single short braid down my back, I find I rather like it. It's a look that says, hard ass and proud.

Anyways, one of the boys walks over to our side of the school yard. You see, both sexes have their own sides of the school yard. The girls get the tree and benches while the guys get the field of grass and dirt to roll around in. But when one crosses into the others boundaries, it can mean two things. A) Someones going to get their heart broken or B) someone is going to get asked out.

The girls on my side (well, not necessarily my side, but I'm always followed around by all the girls, so I guess its my side...cool) all started to quiet down as Brandon Marlo made his way across the border line into OUR territory.

Now, let me explain Brandon Marlo. Girls kill themselves just to get on a date. Guys will do the craziest things to get him to hang with them. It's sick. In the sixth grade, I was one of his number one fans, but now, I just look forward to the opportunity he's going to give me to sock him one.

"Hey Ravenwood!" He shouts, jogging over with an easy smile over to our group. Several girls start to whisper excitedly amongst themselves, giggling like hyenas. I roll my eyes.

"Yeah what do you want?" I yell back.

"Come here. I wanna talk to you." He says, using the big blue eyes look that makes everyone else in my group giggle incessantly.

"If you want to talk, you can come over here. I'm too tired to get up." I say lazily, winking at my friends, who all know how this was going to end.

"You want to go out to the club dancing tomorrow night, my treat?" He offers, standing over me and giving me that sickening smile I can't believe I used to adore.

Let's just say I don't even give my answer a second thought.

"No."

"W-What?" He asks, looking rather put out.

"You heard me, no. Now, if you're done attempting to make my lunch come out of my stomach, go away."

He blinks at me for a moment, as if I wasn't clear enough for the entire school (who was watching us, by the way) to hear.

"Let me tell you something, babe." He says, pulling me up of my feet by my skinny waist. "You should feel pretty happy that I want to take you out. I mean, you used to be a skinny stick but you've filed out and you're pretty good looking now."

"So that's why you want to take me out? To bed me?" I start to yell, wrenching my hands from his.

"Well...if that's okay with you." He says.

What I do next is not my fault. Like I say, I never have control over my actions. I could scream and cuss him out. I could just walk away and ignore him. But I decide to do the adult thing to do.

What do I do, might you ask?

I bloody beat the hell out of that bastard, that's what.

First I punch him, then I knee him in the groin, and then I kick him in both shins.

I'm about to take advantage of his falling over and jump on him, delivering more punches, but someone calls my name.

"Marion!"

I snap my head around to our side of the field and find Indiana Jones standing there, his hands in his pockets and his face bearing the smuggest of grins.

For the girls who were into Brandon Marlo, meeting Indy for them was about ten times better, I'm guessing. They all crowd around him, cooing and batting their eyes.

I turn back to Marlo.

"Stay away from me and my bed, or I leave you with more of a mark than this." I turn and begin to walk away.

But then, Brandon must've got up because he grabbed me around the waist and hoisted me on his shoulder.

"Let go of me you smarmy bastard!" I scream, beating him on his back.

Next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground, watching Brandon Marlo get the shit beat out of him.

By the most unlikely person I can think of.

Once Brandon passes out, this person grabs me and pulls me up off my feet.

"C'mon Marion." Indy growls, leading me out of the school yard.

Too speechless to even nod, I follow him dumbly out of the schoolyard, listening incoherently to the cheers and laughter coming from my friends.

Why is it that I'm the only person to ever dislike Indiana Jones upon meeting him?

* * *

**That was the longest short so far!! Just over 1000 words. Most of it was pointless crap and horrible, I know, just review please. Let me know of any typos!**


	33. Three Kinds of Conversation

I get home and run to my room, still too mortified to speak.

There is a letter on my desk, upon recognizing the familiar neat scrawl, I tear it open and read it eagerly.

**_Dear Marion,_**

**_It sounds like you are certainly having an interesting time at home. You may have trouble with him now, but I know Henry Jones Jr. and he is most certainly a good man to be friends with, mark my words. I wish I could say that my life here is eventful as well, but not anything has happened. All we know is that we're trying to find the head piece to the staff of Ra._**

**_I can't write much more, but don't worry, I've got a surprise that'll make up for it._**

**_Much love,_**

**_Oxley_**

I grab a random piece of paper and write a reply as quick as possible.

**Dear Ox,**

**Actually, Indy and I are getting along today. My girl friends are completely going crazy over him, but I just see him as a guy who beat up another guy for me today. I'll tell you the whole story when I see you again. Good luck with the head piece of history, and make sure you don't get too cooped up with all those stuffy professors in New York. It's not good for the soul. **

**Love,**

**Marion**

I leave the addressed letter on my desk and go down stairs to the phone to call Carrie, who is at home by now I'm sure.

As soon as the phone picks up I hear a squeal of mirth.

"Carrie? What's wrong?" I asked frantically, thinking she is getting hacked by an axe murderer or something. Hey, it CAN happen.

"Indiana Jones is the cutest and best looking archaeologist on the entire earth!" She screams into the phone, making me go deaf in one ear.

"He's like your night in shining armor!" She continues to rant. "He came and beat up Brandon Marlo for you, he would have picked you up and carried you off if you weren't able to stand! Oh My Lord, how can you NOT be in love with him? All the other girls are and that's for certain!"

"He's Indy!" I protest, though its probably not a good excuse. We've been studying for over a week now and I can't seem to see any flaws in his character. It's extremely irksome.

"He's gorgeous." She replies back.

I'm about to give another defiant comment but then Indiana walks into the room.

"I have to go Carrie." I mutter.

"Fine. But I will come over this weekend after school so I can meet him properly."

"Alright, you little floozy." I joke, laughing as I put the receiver down.

I stand up as Indy is in my vicinity.

"Why did you beat up Brandon Marlo for me?" I ask sharply.

He looks at me as if he doesn't recall, but then it dawns on him. "Oh, the kid who was touching you? He deserved it."

"I had the whole situation under control." I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I'm sure you did." He scoffs.

"I DID!" I insist, stamping my foot. " I don't need a knight in shining armor. I can handle myself!"

"Alright, I'll remember that." He says, turning away.

He turns back. "I'll see you tonight. But don't expect a warm welcome."

"And why would I want to see you tonight?"

"Because I'm your only hope of passing school, sweetheart." He says with a cocky grin before walking away.

I seethe with anger as he does so.

* * *

**Hey, please read this authors note, I'm going to be out of town for the next week and I can't update. I will be writing but there won't be any more updates. I'm so sorry, but I promise I'll have plenty to give you when I get back. By the way, we got 111 reviews! In about a week and a half! I'm so happy you guys thank you all so much! REVIEW!! **


	34. Studying of a Different Kind

I'm at tutoring tonight.

We're not saying much.

Shit.

Jones gave me a bunch of terms to study through some technique or another. He's reading a book as I do this.

I start thinking about what he did today. So far it was the manliest thing I've ever seen him do. He totally DEPLETED Brandon Marlo. He punched his lights out.

I didn't know Indiana could be that...unexpected.

Okay Marion...get back to your studying.

I get back...but one term doesn't make sense.

"What was an anti-federalist supposed to stand for again?" I ask, avoiding looking at him.

Suddenly, he's REACHING AROUND ME to show me whats on my paper.

"The anti-federalists were against a strong central government." He said, gesturing to the list of terms. "They believed in small, strong, state governments to govern the U.S."

"Oh. Thanks." I say, trying to come off as really not caring.

I stand up and go to grab another history book from the shelf. On my way down the steps of the sliding staircase, I trip and fall flat on my face.

Well, almost fall flat on my face.

Indy catches me.

And then I see them.

His eyes.

They're hazel.

And not just the normal dismal hazel but the kind of STUNNINGLY SEXY hazel that makes you want to die inside.

His eyes are at first brown, but filled with a mixture of molten honey flecks and amber specks. It's one of those colors that I could look at all day and never get tired of. A complete combination of all my favorite colors are in his eyes, arranged in a pattern that would make it seem as if his eyes were painted by Monet, or some other famous artist.

His arms are around my waist, preventing me from falling any further. They're so STRONG AND BROAD that you would think I was being held by a Grecian Hercules.

"Are you alright?" He asks, setting me down.

I have to stop this.

Wake up Marion.

WAKE UP!

I push myself out of his arms and we both fall on the floor.

"Of course I'm fine." I snap.

I run back to my book and study furiously, refusing to look up again until I'm finished. But when I finish, I find that he's not in the room anymore.

Studying is not fun. Whether it is Jones I'm studying or just plain old history.


	35. Guilt

I'm lying on my bed and I can't get to sleep.

I know that yelling at Indy for helping me earlier was for his own good.

But it still wasn't nice.

I stand up and start pacing my floor.

I shouldn't have yelled at him.

But he makes it so easy for me to be mad!

And his eyes.

But his arrogant mouth...

I stand and stare at my door.

It starts as an ache in my stomach, then rises until it reaches my throat. Like an unpleasant fizz, it covers my entire mind until I can't think.

Damn you, guilt.

Fine.

Be that way.

I run across the room and pull the door to my room open and run down one level to Jones' room.

I throw the door open, probably scaring the living shit out of him. He leaps out of bed, looking completely disturbed and agitated.

"Marion?" He whispers, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm sorry!" I practically shout. "I'm sorry for being a bitch just because you beat someone's ass for me. I'm sorry I can't seem to help myself from tripping and falling. I'm sorry you had to catch my sorry arse. And I'm sorry that we can never seem to get along for more than a week or so."

He stares at me blankly for a minute, before groaning, "You had to do this now?"

"Yes." I say uneasily, realizing it's about midnight as I speak.

"Well, okay. I forgive you, alright? Just...let me be there for you when you need me to be, that's what friends do, right?"

Friends? I had never thought of us as friends.

"Yeah, I guess it is." I say, blushing at the floor.

"Alright Marion. Now that you've gotten rid of your guilt, you can go back to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. Goodnight Indy." I say sweetly, walking out of his room and closing the door behind me.

It is now that I realize I just saw Indiana Jones without a shirt on.


	36. Spastic Best Friends

Two more days till the final.

To get my mind off of panic attacks, I bring Carrie over for a few hours on Wednesday. You know, as a last-chance-to-spend-time-with-my-best-friend-before-summer thing.

It is a big mistake on my behalf.

As soon as she catches sight of Indy, she near loses it.

"You're Indiana Jones?" She asks, her blue eyes bigger than saucers.

"Um...yeah. You must be Carrie." He says, shaking her hand.

"You told him who I was?" She asks incredulously.

"How could I not? After all the shit we've gotten in together, how could I not mention my fabulous best friend?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Carrie." Indy says with a bow, and I'm surprised he isn't affected at all by my usage of swear words.

"Show off." I mutter as he saunters away.

He sticks his tongue out at me as a reply.

Carrie watches this with a most peculiar expression on her face.

"You like him." She accuses as soon as he leaves the room.

"Do not." I say, not believing that she is actually thinking I would.

"He likes you too." She adds.

"Yeah, as a friend." I add.

"Nope. As a lover."

"You're insane." I state simply, leading the way to the kitchens, where we both grab a cookie.

"Well, look at it this way. He's the first guy that isn't terrified by you, he's good looking, smart, and he's your knight in shining armor." She says, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her small ears.

"May I remind you that a knight in shining armor is the last thing I want and need." I point out.

"I call dibs on Maid of Honor." She blurts out.

I look at her wide-eyed.

"If you think that we're going to get married someday, let alone get involved in a romantic relationship, you have lost it."

"Marion, whats not to like about you? You're beautiful, smart, talented..."

"You forgot to mention tempestuous, ill-mannered, loud, stick thin and uncontrollable."

"Guys like girls who are exciting." She protests.

"True, but do they like girls who don't have figures? No."

"You do have a figure. Try putting on some clothes that are not too big and see the change." Carrie parries.

"Give me a reason and I will."

"Perfect. The next big conference your dad has to go to, I'll be coming over and doing everything. Deal?"

"Fine. Like that'll ever happen where Abner will want to bring me to one of his stupid conferences." I say.

"We'll see." Carrie replies.

I think about what Carrie says later once she has left. Do I want a knight in shining armor? Even if I do, it's not Indiana Jones, that's for certain. Right?

Wait a second, why am I asking my own mind this question?

Maybe Carrie's not the only one losing it...


	37. Eve of the Final

It. Is. The. Night. Before. THE! HISTORY! FINAL!

Needless to say, I am freaking out.

Enough said.

It's eleven thirty at night, and I refuse to go to bed until I have drilled the entire Bill of Rights into my uncomprehending head!

I'm sitting in the library with Jones, him in the arm chair and me on the rug, belly up.

"What was the famous quote made to John Adams by his wife Abigail during their correspondence?" Indy quizzes me, scanning through my history text book.

"I believe it was 'Remember the Ladies'." I answer reassured, kicking my legs up and down.

We go on in this fashion for another thirty minutes or so, but I'm still worried like a maniac, despite that I haven't gotten one question wrong.

"You'll do fine, Marion. You never worry about anything else, so why this?"

Ha, he doesn't even know that this is the least of my worries. I roll over and sit up warily.

"I'm not sure." I lie, tapping my fingers on his shoes (yes, I'm actually getting THAT close to him). "Maybe it's because if I fail, I'm screwed."

"Your father just wants you to do well." Indy offers.

"Yeah, and if I don't, he'll probably never even talk to me again."

"Marion, be realistic. He's your father, your own flesh and blood."

"And also the man who forgot my birthday." I say pointedly.

"He appreciates you. He loves you, Marion."

"Then why doesn't he act like it?" I ask, refusing to meet Indiana's eyes, fearing I'll go into yet another hazel induced coma.

Silence meets my inquiry. He's staring fixedly at me, with a kind of intensity that I just can't bear to be under. I play with the tassels beneath my feet that belong to the mahogany Persian rug. The firelight flickers across the wall and I eye his shadow, broad and resilient.

After what must be a whole minute, he makes a sudden movement and is suddenly next to me, just as serious as before.

"You know," He begins, crossing his legs and leaning against the foot of the chair, "My dad never cared what I did. That's why I left and came here. I felt awful that I had ruined your birthday, because I know what its like to be invisible to the ones I love."

Well, I certainly don't have a comeback to that.

"In a matter of speaking, you and Abner are all I have left." He finishes earnestly.

Realizing how lonely he must feel makes me want to hug him and never let go.

In a strictly friendly way, of course.

I feel ungrateful, because I have more than him. I have a real home, a best friend who is better that chocolate chip pancakes, and a butler and this guy, who drives me insane yet knows how to make me smile.

"Hey, just think of me as the little sister you've always wanted." I say, batting my eyelashes.

"I can do that." He says, giving a small smirk, followed by a colossal yawn.

"Tired much?" I ask playfully, fiddling with his shoelace again.

"Exhausted. You should get some sleep as well." He says.

"I can't. I have to study more." I whine frantically, angry at myself from diverting from more studying.

"Alright. I'm going to bed." He says, standing up and ruffling my hair like a owner would do to it's dog. I shoot a joking glare at him as he saunters out, stifling another yawn.

As soon as he's gone, I immerse myself in my book, but soon my eyes start to droop. I'm asleep in about five minutes.

But not completely.

I wake up the next morning in my bed.

My clothes from yesterday are still on, but my hair is down and hanging in a mess around my shoulders. A small piece of paper is stuck on my Vanity.

**Good luck on the exam. Thought you might have liked to sleep in your own bed.**

**-Indy**

I smile at the writing and run to get dressed hurriedly.

* * *

**By the way, let me know of any typos so I can fix them please!**


	38. Taking the Test of Doom

I sit at my desk as Mr. Barnes passes out the final. My breathing is erratic and I'm clutching the desk extremely hard.

I can't stand it.

"I hope you studied Miss Ravenwood." My teacher leers, slapping the test on my desk.

I ignore him and his portruding nose hairs.

I close my eyes and breath deeply, taking my pencil in hand.

I look the final over, reading all the questions before I answer any.

I remember something Indy taught me...

_Don't think of this as a test. Think of it as another tree to climb. Another apple to grab from the topmost branch._

I smile to myself and begin the test.

Three words for you, Mr. Barnes:

BRING. IT. ON.

* * *

Okay, I've hit a hard question.

Everyone has already left the room, having finished the exam. Carrie gave me a thumbs up before she walked out, which lightened my spirits just a little.

Question #150 (last question) : Who was said to have fired the first shot heard around the world?

I know this, Indiana said it at least twenty dozen times.

Think, Ravenwood, think.

Okay, Indiana and I went over that 'shot around the world' thing a week ago, and I remember that because he hadn't shaven that day yet...and there was an almost attractive five o' clock shadow on his jaw that I couldn't stop eyeing and...

Samuel Adams!!

I circle the correct answer and practically run to the teachers desk, throwing the test at Mr. Barnes.

"Grade it." I say proudly, but quivering with nervousness inside.

He takes out the answers and begins to grade and I pace the room back and forth.

Dear God, I know I'm an undeserving child with no purpose on Earth other than to annoy people, but could you please give me a good grade? At least a B minus?

Please?


	39. Hugs

I passed.

WITH A FREAKING 99!!

I stare blankly at Mr. Barnes as he tells me this.

And then I scream.

Loudly.

And then I leap forward and give him a hug.

"Oh...thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU!" I scream in his ear, before running out the door yelling like a lunatic with my test in hand.

I run all the way home, my feet refraining from tripping me over, fortunately. I slam open the door to the house.

"Ben!!" I scream, giving the butler a strangling hug. "I passed the final!"

Before he can congratulate me, I run off down the hallway, nearly crying with relief.

You see, this grade moves my entire year grade to an A minus, meaning I'm NOT GOING TO SUMMER SCHOOL!

I run screaming into Abner's study, throwing my test on his desk.

I hug him fiercely, knocking his tea on his lap.

"Dad, I PASSED!" I yell as soon as I let go of him. "WITH A NINETY NINE PERCENT!"

"Good job Marion, I'm proud of you." He beams, going back to his newspaper.

His words warm me over and I grin even bigger than before, and then run outside into the hall way.

I skip into the dining room and then stop, finding Jones at the table eating an apple. He looks up on me, his expression unsure and cautious.

"How'd ya do?" He asks uncertainly, looking me up and down.

"HOLY SHIT I GOT A NINETY NINE PERCENT!" I scream once more, running forward to give him a hug.

He stands up to receive it, the smile apparent on his face. I throw my arms around his neck, completely not caring how rash I look.

Instead of awkwardly returning the hug like I thought he would, he spins me around, holding my waist to him as my legs fly out like propellers.

"Ha! I knew you could do it!" He yells enthusiastically, giving me another firm hug.

I keep my arms around him and he does the same to me for a few more seconds. I like it, the feeling of his strong arms around my tiny waist. It's nice, you know, being able to hug someone who used to be your enemy.

I let go and stare at my feet for a moment, before bounding off to my room.

Life is good.


	40. Surprises

I come down the stairs for dinner time, my hair still wet from my bath. My mood is still extremely jubilant, because it was six hours ago that I aced my history final.

School is over and its such a relief to not have any more things to stress about.

Okay, well there are a few things to worry about.

Like my psycho, gradually-falling-off-the-edge father.

Or my tendency to always make a mess of things.

And that little glitch in my personality that forbids me from ever being manageable.

Oh, and don't forget my skinny, starved looking body!

But at the moment, my biggest problem is that I think Indiana Jones is attractive.

That, my friend, is a HUGE problem.

Anyways, I walk down to the dining room to only see a mess of blonde hair attack me into a death grip hug.

"I knew you would do fine!" Carrie squeals into my ear.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were leaving for London after school?" I ask as we separate. (You see, Carrie's dad is the museum curator and he's taking the family to London for a few weeks to get a piece of art and vacate).

"My boat was postponed to depart two weeks from now." She says engagingly, waving her hand around. "But your Dad called me to come over for the congratulations party!"

I then look around and realize that Indy, Abner and Carrie are all standing around a cake with icing lettering: _Congratulations on Acing your Final! _

A smile spreads across my face as I run over and give Abner a kiss on the cheek and Indy a well deserved hug. I have a feeling he suggested the cake (Indiana, I mean) and by the twinkle in his eye, I know I'm right.

How...surprising of him.

We sit, and Carrie cuts the cake into slices, though I notice she gives my piece and extra two inches of width.

Mmmmm...vanilla...my favorite.

We eat in pleasant silence for a minute or so, me trying to ignore Carrie's furtive glances across the table at Indy and I, who are coincidentally sitting together.

"Marion?" My father asks, putting his fork down.

"Yes Abner?" I ask back, feeling a small twinge of regret at using his real name.

"I've decided that you are growing up and becoming more responsible," He begins, as I feel a trickle of hope creeping into my stomach, "And you should be allowed some more privileges. So, next week, I am allowing you to attend the next conference with Indiana and I."

My stomach does several somersaults. Not the pleasant kind, mind you.

Allow me to explain the fascinating concept of Historic Conferences at Chicago University.

Boring. As. Hell.

All they consist of are nasally, old, stuffy, batty men like my father who care more about whether or not King Arthur's long lost underwear exist than current issues like poverty or starvation.

You'd think that as educated as they all are, the professors would care about current day stuff.

But why do that, when you can talk about King Arthur's knickers instead?

Obviously, a conference isn't my idea of fun because of the aforementioned reason above, plus the fact that it's formal (meaning Carie gets to primp me all up) and the fact that dresses are a must.

Crap.

I sit there in my seat, my cake supporting fork in mid-air between my mouth and the table.

"You see," My father continues, "We have a special guest coming to speak about the location of the Headpiece to the Staff of Ra."

"Who's the speaker?" I ask in monotone, knowing I've heard 'head piece of the staff of Ra' mentioned somewhere before. Did I hear it from my teacher? Indy?

"Don't you remember anything I write in my letters?" Yells a voice from the doorway.

My ears recognize the voice before I even see the face.

"OXLEY!" I scream, running into the awaiting arms of my almost-big-brother.

He smells like dirt and someone's french whorehouse perfume. There is a trace of lipstick on his collar.

"Been busy, Ox?" I ask teasingly, rubbing off the lipstick with a sly smile.

"You're too smart for your own good." He says with a brotherly kiss to my cheek.

Who cares about my forgotten birthday? I aced my final, hugged Indiana Jones, ate vanilla cake with my best friend and got to see one of my closest friends that is practically related to me.

I think that life just might be starting to look up.

...

Ha, who am I kidding?


	41. Rain

Now that summer has started and I'm done with school, I'm finding myself with not much to do.

Meaning, I'm spending most of my time with Indiana Jones.

It's an odd thing, really. I thought that with Oxley here I'd want to spend all my time with him. Don't get me wrong, we've already spent countless nights catching up while devouring a bowl of ice cream and playing millions of tic-tac-toe games, but he's older (by exactly 20 years) and he has his nerdy professor stuff to deal with.

Something, I'm not exactly sure what, keeps me going back to Indy. It's not that I'm attracted to him! Oh, God no. No, he's just...so fun to be around! We can spend hours talking. Simply talking. Unlike conversations with Oxley, Indy's are one hundred percent sardonic and hilarious. I can relate to him over a lot of things, plus, he's the only person with less than a ten year age difference of me within this house.

I've tried getting a hold of Carrie, but she's out buying my dress for the conference. (How long does it really take, my God!?). And I know that if I ask her if she knows why I am gradually getting closer to Indiana Jones she would get all squeaky and happy and start babbling about my wedding details.

I don't need that at the moment.

I'm now sitting in my room, looking for that deck of cards I lost so I can teach Indy how to play poker.

But suddenly, as I'm bent over under my desk, I hear the lightest of pitter-patters on my window. I stand up quickly, banging my head on my desk.

"Shit." I mutter as my eyes start to water.

I stumble over to the window as the pitter-pattering continues.

"RAIN!" I cry as I finally open my groggy eyes to see out the window.

Buckets and buckets of rain.

I fly out of my room, down the stairs and into Indy's room, where he is taking an afternoon nap.

"Indy!" I yell in his ear, jumping on his bed (and probably on his stomach too. oops.) "WAKE UP INDY!"

When he simply rolls over with a mumble, I reach over his head and open the skylight, meaning it's now raining on his head. With a shout, he sits bolt-upright.

"Marion!" He reprimands, pointing a finger at me. "I told you to never use sudden means of waking me up unless its an emergency!"

"Yeah yeah," I tell him dismissively, "But this is an emergency! It's raining! The first summer shower is here!"

He somehow finds my excited face hilarious and bursts out laughing.

"Are you serious?" He asks, still laughing.

"Yes!" I fume, punching him in the arm. "Now get out of bed you big lunk, we're going into the rain!"

I yank him out of bed, down another flight of stairs and out into the pouring rain.

I laugh at the sight of the gray but heavy clouds and begin to run across the lawn, splashing, yelling and romping like a five year old boy. I sit down in the muddy puddles and splash in them some more. I turn back and find that Jones is still on the porch, giving me an amused and wondered look.

I walk forward innocently, trying to work any charm I have with my green eyes. I lean forward and whisper in his ear.

"Is the Great Indiana Jones scared?"

He gives an involuntary shudder, most likely from the cold weather. (What else would it be?)

When he doesn't respond, I hug him, getting muddy rainwater all over his slacks and button down shirt. I then cackle evilly, skipping away like a mad-man.

"Oh no you don't!" He shouts, running after me.

He is rather fast, you know.

But I'm faster.

With my skinny tininess, its not hard to be fast.

But then suddenly, he's RIGHT BEHIND ME, scooping me up into his arms like a baby doll.

"Let go of me!" I wail, smacking him on his chest.

"Not if you admit I'm not scared of the rain." He says, water dripping down his face.

"Like hell I will!" I shout, smacking him again.

"Alright Marion, you asked for it!" He says.

And then, he starts tickling me.

I scream in laughter and am squirming like crazy. Indy is relentless, fingers digging into my sides as I try to escape his heavy, straitjacket-like arms.

So, I do the only thing that gets me out of a situation like this.

I punch him.

The shock of the punch (which hits his kisser perfectly, mind you) sends him to the ground. But incidentally, his arms are still around me, so we both land on the ground.

But wait! It gets worse.

Not only do we land on the ground, but we land ON TOP OF EACH OTHER!

!!

Me on top of him. My face right above his. And, I notice this for only a millisecond, my lips right above his.

We both are cracking up, and the fact that I can feel the laughter reverberating throughout his chest makes it worse. I just can't stop. Tears are streaming from my eyes.

"Marion, what is it with you and this falling thing?" He asks, resting his head on the ground and looking up at the sky.

"You tell me." I reply, laying my head on his shoulder.

For a few minutes, all we do is lay there, catching our breaths and getting soaked in the rain.

"Sorry for punching you." I apologize, facing him and staring into his eyes.

"I'm glad you can punch." He assures me. "That way, I know no guy will mess with my kid-sister."

The dinner bell rings and we both leap up and run for the house, dripping wet and shivering.

So, if anyone asks, I'm not the only one in this house who suffers from stupidity and irresponsibility.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah! I'm back! Well, I told you I would have tons of shorts for you guys, so please review like crazy, because I love you all for that! REVIEW!! My happiness depends on it!**


	42. Preparations

I look like I'm about to get married!" I whine as Carrie's manicured nails rake through my just washed and dried hair.

"No, you look like you're about to attend a formal conference." She denies, taking a bobby pin out of her mouth and plunging it into my endless sea of hair.

"I look like the Virgin Mary." I pout.

"You look like an attractive girl who is going to draw attention to herself without even trying." Carrie counters.

"Why do you want to kill your best friend?" I ask, wincing as she brushes the knots in my hair out and sticks curlers in.

"I merely want you to experience being and looking like a woman before you are old and grey." She states. "Now close your eyes, I need to put some make up on."

"I'm going to look like a whore." I warn, though I close my eyes all the same, fearing her icy glare. We both know that only two kinds of people wear make-up. Whores and actors. At least that how it was the last time I checked.

"It's really very modern." She says, brushing something along my eyelashes. "All young, sophisticated women of society wear it when they go out now a days. Plus, I'm only applying a tiny bit!"

I roll my eyes beneath closed lids.

Sometimes, being the best friend of a modernity fanatic can be unhealthy.

"Look, Carrie," I begin beneath closed lids, "I appreciate what you're doing but I don't need all this."

"Of course you don't, Marion. You're beautiful gorgeous everyday, but this is simply amplifying it!"

She then tells me to keep my eyes shut or suffer dire consequences. I feel tugs at my hair and bangs and several pokes. Something smooth and wet touches my lips and it feels like they're being coated with syrup.

"Can I open my eyes NOW?" I plead.

"No, not yet." She says airily.

I wait for what seems like a gazillion more hours, she ceases the tugging and brushing and everything else.

"Okay." She says, sounding as if she's about to explode from excitement. "Open."

Is that me in the mirror?

Oh. My. God.

The skinny, green eyed, tan-faced, black haired girl I knew about two hours ago isn't even there.

I'm wearing this VERY snug and fitting white dress with sleeveless straps that goes down to my ankles, where white heels are protruding from the bottom of the dress. I also have white gloves that go up all the way to my elbows.

But that's not the most surprising part, mind you.

My hair, which we all know is NEVER tamable ever, is hanging down in loose curls around my bare shoulders, but is pinned back slightly to reveal my ears with pearl earrings in them. My face looks like those of the most beautiful maidens in the movies I sometimes see. My eyes look big, green and almost luminescent, framed by longer looking lashes and a splash of silver on my lids. My lips look pink and un-chapped, shining with God-knows-what.

"What did you do?" I ask, barely registering that's me I see in the mirror.

Carrie appears beside me, the biggest of smirks on her face. "I turned you into what you have the potential to be. Now, Indy won't be able to keep his eyes off you."

My eyes widen in horror as I realize who I'm attending the conference with.

"He's not going to notice." I say flatly, not sure who I'm trying to convince.

"If he notices a slutty maid, he'll notice you. How can he not?"

I turn, dumbfounded, to Carrie and then hug the life out of her.

"If I live through tonight, remind me to thank you and then kill you brutally." I whisper in her ear.

"At least give me the details of the conference before you splatter my blood on the walls." She whispers back.

I realize that I won't see her for the rest of the summer because her boat is leaving tomorrow and tears well up in my eyes.

"Marion Ravenwood, don't you dare mess up that make-up that took me hours to do." She threatens, though her eyes are already spilling over.

We embrace again, and I feel her shoulders shake just a little. Hey, we've been best friends since we were in diapers and this is the first summer we aren't together, we deserve some sadness!

She lets go of me with a sad sniff and walks out of the room, before turning and saying with a devilish glare, "Don't have too much fun."

I laugh as she closes the door.

I'm going to miss that crazy girl.

I look at myself in the mirror one more time, not believing that it looks like I have a body. Curves and all. Even breasts!

Not that I'm excited about this addition to my klutzy body.

I take a deep breath, knowing Abner and Indy are already across the street at the museum.

I open my door, grabbing my purse (which contains nothing useful in it. It's for FASHION.) and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

Here goes nothing.

* * *

**Yes, make-up was worn in the twenties. It became popular among young women during the flapper movement. Just a fun fact!**


	43. Arrival

The conference is across the street at the museum. I walk across the damp street (still drizzly, you know) and enter the museum, dropping off my coat in the coat room.

I wander around in the hallway for a while, not wanting to enter under many eager eyes.

I walk forward to the entrance and some random man stops me.

"Your full name please?" He asks, over-looking a clip board.

"Um...Marion Elena Ravenwood."

He opens the door and shouts into a mega-phone, "Presenting Miss Marion Elena Ravenwood!"

Holy. Shit.

An entire room full of people (maybe, 500 or so) look up at me.

A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck as I can tell that I'm eternally screwed.

I have to go down a staircase.

In high heels.

Without tripping.

I want to die.

I can feel 500 pairs of eyes on me and I feel like I'm an actor on a stage in the only spotlights.

Slow and steady, Ravenwood.

I take my first step and place my gloved hand on the banister, my foot wobbling just a little.

I can do this.

I can do this.

Oh My God, I can't do this!

Complete silence is seeming to surround the room as everyone keeps staring at me.

And then, just as I think I'm going to die of heat stroke, I see him.

Indiana Jones.

Okay, so maybe I can only make out his figure and not the face.

But I only have to think about one thing to get myself going down those stairs gracefully.

His eyes.

I imagine that spark of honey in his eyes as he looks up at me, and I walk down the stairs without tripping once.

I nearly collapse in relief as someone else is announced and the spotlight is taken off me. I take a deep breath and stumble over to my father,(I no longer care if I look graceful or not) careful not to avoid eye contact with anyone and smile. (I've had practice with these conferences, Carrie and I used to always sneak in and hide in the museum exhibits while watching all the women.)

"You look just like your mother, Marion." Abner says as he pats my hand after kissing it.

I smile, trying to feel happy that my father is even comparing me to my mother.

I stand there for a few moments after Abner walks away to go talk to someone-or-other, completely not knowing what to do. I see a few classmates from school (unfortunately, most of them are gawking boys) but I don't wave or anything.

I'm about to give up and go sit down when Indy walks up to me.

"Indy!" I gasp, cursing myself for sounding so desperate.

He doesn't reply though, and I can tell there's a reason.

His jaw almost literally hits the floor, hazel eyes flowing over my body, as if drinking in every detail of my remodeled appearance. I feel naked almost, but I rather enjoy the shocked expression on his face. It takes a lot to shock him, you know.

"Surprised much?" I ask, giving a smirk.

"How about stunned?" He asks back, eyes continuing to run over my body.

"Well, put your tongue back in your mouth, because its annoying." I snap, throwing him a furious glare.

"Sorry." He mutters sincerely. "I just...never mind."

I must admit that the way he was looking at me seconds ago was unnerving. He's rarely looked at me like that before. Intensely, hungrily, almost...YEARNINGLY.

Psh...boys.

"So, are you going to the conference?" I ask tiredly, as I link my arm through his and we walk around.

"Nope, professors only. Plus, your father told me to keep an eye out for you."

"Ha, its you I should be keeping an eye out for, Mr. I-like-to-kiss-random-girls-in-libraries."

He laughs, the rough sounding laugh that I like.

As we make our way through the crowd, I can't help the feeling that a lot of people are watching me. Even several hopeful men (some older than my father) walk over as Indy goes to grab some punch. I have to hold back a laugh at the look of horror on their faces as Indy walks over (hey, this guy is tall and buff, how does that not scare you?).

The dinner bell rings after a while and I walk into the banquet hall and seat myself at the table, Indy across from me.

Well, if this goes well, I totally underestimate myself.


	44. Nudges

About twenty minutes into the dinner, I'm glad to have remained unseen.

Okay, well not COMPLETELY unseen. It's disgusting, the number of men I have caught staring at me. I really want to throw up.

It's been a comfort to have Indy across the table right in front of me, though.

I occasionally cast glances at him, just to reassure myself that I'm not completely alone.

The first dish was some kind of chicken thing. Now we're on the soup.

Great.

It's called minestrone, and I'm very afraid to try it.

I dip my spoon uncertainly into the soup, clicking my heels together uncomfortably.

Indy leans forward and whispers, "It's not poison."

I glare at him and just to prove I'm not afraid, I put the spoon in my mouth.

And burn my tongue.

I nearly die in my effort to keep from screaming out loud.

I chug down my water glass and leave the stupid bowl of soup alone for the rest of the meal. Instead I begin to pick at the soup crackers for a while to divert my attention.

The dinner has so far has been boring and uneventful. My thoughts are clearly apparent on my face as I draw patterns in the table cloth with my fork. The professors (my father and Oxley included) are talking at the end of the table.

Suddenly, something (or someone?) brushes my foot. My head snaps up and I scan the table, looking for the culprit. Only two men are staring at me, and they are all the way at the end. I turn back to my soup crackers and eat them one by one with my shrimp fork.

It happens again, the gentlest of nudges on my foot.

This time, I don't even look up. I nudge the foot back right back, because it's remaining on my foot.

Indy's head snaps up and HE scans the table, looking at everyone's faces.

Oops.

I nudge the foot again and he nudges back.

It's not until I nearly have to kick him in the shin that Indy realizes its me.

"Can I help you with something, Marion?" He asks, looking questionably at my forked soup crackers.

"You were nudging so I nudged back." I state quietly, not wanting to draw attention.

"Oh, I thought it was the table leg or something. Sorry." He mutters, going back to his meal.

I go back to mine, nudging his foot just one more time.


	45. Drinking

After the dinner, it was time for the actual conference part.

And truthfully, its my favorite part.

All the old men go into this big room, while teenagers go to the kitchens.

I'm not sure what for though, Carrie and I never made it down there in time to see.

So, as Abner walks into the room, I begin to walk away, making my way down to the kitchens. I slip off my heels and run through the museum I know so well in my bare feet.

I'm about to break into a run, when somebody grabs my arm. I whirl around.

"Indy!" I hiss. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not a professor, sweetheart, and daddy dearest told me to look after you." He replies with a cocky smile.

"Leave me alone." I snap, wrenching my arm from his and walking away.

"Why can't I come along?" He asks, keeping astride with me.

I turn, facing him and staring him down.

"You have to promise you'll let me handle whatever happens." I say, not fully explaining myself.

"Why, where are you going?"

"Promise." I command with a steely gaze.

"Fine." He grumbles. "But if your well being comes into question, I WILL interfere."

I give a smile and turn, walking to the kitchen. When he doesn't follow, I take his callused hand inside of mine and pull him with me.

We enter the kitchens about five minutes later, and I can not be more excited to be in such a common place room.

The kitchen is filled with at least twenty teenagers, some I know from school and others from various parties. They're all seated around a single table, where Brandon Marlo and another boy are arm wrestling. Both idiots are grunting in an effort to beat one another, and I can't help but laugh out loud when the unknown boy lets out a girly shriek of pain.

I let go of Indy's hand and walk up to Brielle Martins (the girl who likes my eyes) and ask, "Whats going on?"

"The basic idiocy of good looking men." She tells me, giggling as she spots Indiana next to me.

I watch in amusement as Brandon Marlo nearly crushes the boy's poor hand and wins, standing up for a victory whoop. I applaud unenthusiastically, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.

Brandon Marlo spots me and waves me over, and I can practically feel the evil plot forming in his head as he takes my appearance in.

"Ravenwood, you clean up pretty well." He says loudly, making the room go quiet and directing all attention to us two. (Brandon and I). I don't like it though, seeing as there are A LOT of guys in this room.

"Too bad I can't say the same for you." I say sympathetically, giving him an innocent smile.

He sets his feet on the table, leaning back in his chair.

"Ah, be a good sport, Ravenwood." He says, giving me a Sapphire colored wink. "What have you got against me?"

"What all other women my age should have against you." I answer. "You're arrogant, self-centered, uglier than my Aunt Fannie's ass and stupid."

A chorus of 'oooooh's' echoes through the room. I cross my arms defensively over my chest, keeping his eyes away from it.

"And you're incredibly attractive." He replies.

I feel Indy tense behind me as Marlo says that, and I'm sure he's getting prepared to beat his ass again.

"Go to hell, Marlo!" I shout.

"Why should I?" He asks playfully, as if he's got me right where he wants me. "You can't make me."

"You're a wussy, Marlo." I sneer. "You can't fight like a real man. I bet you can't even drink liquor like a real man."

"And you can?" He asks with an incredibly annoying smile, but I see that my comments hit home.

"You know it." I whisper through gritted teeth. It takes all of my mental strength to keep from punching him.

"Alright then. If I win, I take you on a date. If you win, I leave you alone and am forever shamed."

I consider these stakes. I know that losing for me is not an option, because that would mean becoming his first class whore. If I win, however, I will be a HERO and he will leave me the hell alone.

"Alright then." I agree, nodding grimly.

The kitchen erupts into cheers as the group of teenagers crowd around the table even more. Some guy sets down ten shot glasses on each side of the table and fills them all.

I begin to walk over to my seat, but Indy grabs my arm.

"Are you insane?!" He practically yells in my face. "A drinking contest? You're seventeen!"

"You promised not to interfere." I warn gently, knowing he's just looking out for me.

I find I like it.

"You're going to regret drinking this much." He says, putting his hands up in the air as if to ward me off.

"And you would know because you, the college scholar, have had a drinking binge before." I tease, nudging him in the ribs as I take my seat.

"Just...stop when you feel nauseous." He advises, and I can't help but believe he HAS done this before.

"Rules," Brandon begins, "You must turn your shot glass upside down on this line"(he gestured to a chalk line down the center of the table) "And when you don't for the first time, you lose."

"What are we waiting for, then?" I ask.

"And...go!" The ref says.

Brandon reaches forward and grabs his first shot glass and drinks it in three small mouthfuls. He shudders.

Ha, piece of cake.

I reach forward and grab MY first shot glass.

I down it in one gulp.

Everyone gasps as I do this, and I can't help but grin. The burn of the liquor is numbing, and I like it.

"What is this, scotch?" I ask the ref conversationally.

"Um...vodka." He answers bewildered, checking the bottle.

I look over at Brandon and laugh out loud at his surprised expression.

"Ready to continue?" I ask, not believing how easy this is.

* * *

We're on the fifth shot glass now.

I am holding up WAY better than I thought I would.

But still, I can feel the alcohol take affect as I down my fifth glass in a mouthful. I blink slowly, my eyes watering and my throat scalding as I set the glass down.

Brandon takes his sixth glass and drinks it slowly, giving me a lazy wink.

I look behind me and smile at Indy, "It's not that hard, now."

But I see his stricken face and am aware that the worst is about to come.

* * *

Fifteenth shot glass.

I've had worse.

I think.

Why does Brandon Marlo have a twin?

I reach forward and shakily grab my glass. The girls are going insane over me, placing bets of an enormous size that I will win.

It's a lot to live up to.

I raise the glass to my lips and down it, experiencing another wave of numbing that I really want to succumb to.

I lean forward and rest my hand on my hand, still holding my shot glass and closing my eyes. I just want to sleep. That's all I want.

I hear groans of loss and hear the rustle of money above my head.

I need to wake up.

I try to think of why I did this in the first place.

Top impress someone?

But who?

Indiana Jones.

I sit up straight like a rapier and shout, "Stop!"

Everyone freezes. My eyes are alight with a fire I haven't possessed since the twelfth shot glass.

"Stop." I say again quietly, staring at all the faces around me.

Slowly, I hold my hand out, turning the glass upside down and set it down on the line with a snap of my hand.

The girls in the crowd cheer and cheer and cheer and several hands slap me on the back. I grin to myself and watch Brandon Marlo grasp his shot glass after several failed attempts.

He raises it to his lips with another smirk at me, as if I'm all his, and downs the glass.

Seconds later he falls out of the chair and onto the floor, passed out. His glass never made it to the line.

Screams and applause explode throughout the kitchens and money is exchanged.

"And don't try to challenge me again, you bastard!" I shout, much to the delight of my female fans.

Eventually, the room begins to clear out as they carry Brandon away.

I just sit there, looking thoughtfully at the last full shot glass.

Who'd have known that a ARCHAEOLOGIST'S DAUGHTER would have such a strong tolerance for alcohol?

* * *

**Yes, I am aware that this short was accidentally OVER 1000 words (it was 1,499 to be exact!), but I just couldn't cut any of this. Review please!**

**By the way, you may find that I used some of Marion's blocking from her opening scene on Raiders in the pub. Yes, that was on purpose. Not an accident. **

**REVIEW!!**


	46. Being Drunk

I down the very last shot glass that is on the table.

I then stand and fall backwards.

"Whoa there." Says a voice from behind me as someone catches me.

I drowsily turn and find Indy standing over me, supporting me with his hands on my waist.

"Hi there Indiana Jones!" I giggle, waving several fingers.

"C'mon Marion, we've gotta get you home before your father skins me alive." He whispers in my ear.

"Alright, alright." I say grumpily.

I start to walk and then find myself tripping over my shoeless feet.

"Why is the ground moving?" I ask Jones, looking curiously at the floor.

"Marion, you're drunk." He explains.

"Yes, yes I know." I say tiredly, as if this is no news.

I try walking forward again and find myself smacking into the wall.

"Ow. Shit." I moan, clutching at my bruising nose.

"Come here." He says, picking me up and holding me in a cradle position. I put my arms around his neck and lay my dizzy head on his shoulder.

I close my eyes and I feel him kick the door to the kitchens open. He grabs my coat from the coat room and walks me out into the street.

A blast of warm summer evening air engulfs us and my vertigo increases even though I have my eyes closed.

"You sure know how to entertain people." I hear him say, readjusting me in his arms.

"Hey, I'm an entertaining person." I say back feebly.

"That was...really brave. I've never met a girl who could handle alcohol that easily. Have you drank before?"

"Surprisingly, no. And please don't call it brave. Stupid, maybe, but not brave."

He chuckles and his breath tickles my ear. "But still, it was damn interesting to see a puny, seventeen year old girl beat a buff eighteen year old man in a drinking contest."

I smile to myself and nod.

I hear him enter through the back door, probably wanting to avoid questions from the house staff.

"What time is it?" I mutter, noticing my speech is a tad-bit slurred.

"About eleven thirty. Your dad should be home any minute now."

"No he won't." I assure Indy. "Last time, he didn't come back till the next morning. After the conference, the old men always play cards and gamble."

"How do you know this?" He asks, stopping on the stairway to look down at me.

"Carrie and I spent years studying the art of the conference." I say melodramatically.

"Ah."

A few seconds later, I hear the creak of my bedroom door and his footsteps.

"Alright, we're here." He said, lightly dumping me on my bed.

"I'm freezing." I say. My dress is a strapless after all.

"Well, here, take your blanket." He says, tucking it around my chin.

"Thanks." I rasp.

"Now, listen." He says, reminding me of a younger version of my father. "You're going to feel like absolute shit tomorrow, so stay in bed. I'll tell Abner you caught a cold. If he comes up, well, you'll be able to at least look like you're sick."

"Are you implying that I'm ugly?" I snap, snuggling into the blankets.

He sits down next to me on my bed.

"Far from it." He answers sincerely, and then with a sardonic smile, adds, "You clean up pretty good Ravenwood."

"Where have I heard that before?" I pretend to ponder, before poking him in the arm.

After a few seconds of silence, I scoot over on the bed (it's a king size, there's enough room) and pat the spot next to me.

"You know," He begins as he lies down next to me,"People will be talking about tonight for years. About how a seventeen year old girl beat a guy in a drinking contest. Marion Ravenwood, you shame us all."

"I'm not a girl." I defend.

"But you're not a woman either." He points out.

I pout for a minute.

"Well, you're not exactly a man." I shoot back.

"I'm nine years older than you are." He says, turning from the ceiling to face me.

I think about it for a minute and then ask, "So you must have ran away long before you came to us."

He winces. "Yeah, I ran away when I was fifteen years old. I stayed at my Grandparent's house for a few years until they died. I had a job and I was going to get a place of my own afterwards, but you're dad offered for me to come here."

"So you lied about coming straight to us from your dad's." I confirm, scrutinizing him.

"Yes, but I hope you're not offended."

I glare at him, and then laugh. "I lie all the time to people and its no skin off my back."

He laughs and then stares at me.

Oh Jesus Christ, he's giving me The Stare.

The Stare is what I named the look he gives me at the strangest times. When I say something stupid, or I trip and break something. It's this intense, inexplicable gaze that combined with the hazel beauty makes me want to completely kill myself. And at the moment, it doesn't help that I'm drunk. Because then I end up voicing my thoughts under it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask quietly, almost fearfully.

His taut lips gradually twist into a wry smile. He reaches forward and brushes a strand of midnight hair out of my face, my skin tingles oddly as his fingers brush it.

"You really are something else, Marion Ravenwood." He says.

"How so?" I ask, my eyes drooping. I'm unimaginably tired.

Then he says something I can't make out. I can't tell if he's saying it to himself, or to me and I'm too drunk to hear it.

And before I can ask what it was he said, I'm asleep.

* * *

**Another shot that was more than 1000 words, you guys are lucky I'm on a roll! Anyways, sorry for the delay, I've been busy. **

**This conversation between her and Indy should be able to explain a few questions asked in reviews. I don't remember the two people who asked about it, but it had to do with Indy's leaving home and I hope this cleared it up. **

**I loved writing this short and please do me the favor and review, because I promise that things are going to get exciting if you do! REVIEW!!**


	47. Hangovers

Ugh.

The first sensation I experience once I open my eyes in blinding pain. Literally. Blinding.

My eyes snap shut once more.

Why did I have to be stupid and drink last night?

I refrain from any physical movement. My tongue feels thick and fuzzy and my mouth tastes like sawdust.

Yes, I know what sawdust tastes like.

"Owwww." I moan, sounding like a wolf.

I lie as still as possible.

So much for going for a walk today.

Suddenly, my door opens with a click. A click that echoes throughout my sore head. My ears are ringing.

"Goodmorning Sunshine." Says a voice from the doorway.

"Stop yelling at me." I groan, an act that makes my head throb EVEN MORE.

"Sorry, I forgot you're supposed to whisper around people with hangovers." Indy apologizes in a hushed tone.

I keep my eyes firmly closed, even when I hear the snap of my blinds being shut.

"How are you feeling?" He asks as I feel him sit beside me and place a hand on my forehead.

" I feel like you said I would, Doctor Jones: absolute shit." I inform him quietly, trying to stop the pulse of my head.

"Well you don't have a fever. Is your head okay?"

"My head has a heartbeat, Doctor." I pout.

"Here, drink this." He says shoving a cup of some substance into my hands.

Assuming its not poison (I do trust him, you know) I take a sip and then spit it out allover myself.

"What the hell is this?" I ask, my closed eyes only imagining what putrid liquid is in the cup.

"I won't tell you, dear patient. Just drink." He commands.

I take a huffy breath in the direction of Indy's voice and down the rest of the nasty ass drink as fast as possible.

The pain ebbs just a little and I open my eyes gradually.

Jones is sitting in front of me, holding a tray of food, still in his suit from yesterday (minus the jacket and shoes) and as wrinkly as it looks, it looks good on him.

Curious as to what I look like, I walk over to my mirror.

From what I see, I'm a mess. Giant dark circles are under my eyes and my hair is back to the tangled mess we all know and love.

Splendid.

Indy sits on my bed as I bustle around and grab clothes to change into, an amused expression on his face. Without excusing myself, I walk to the bathroom and change into out of my girly dress into my beloved jeans (with the cuffs rolled up) and baby blue blouse. I comb the knots out of my hair and wash my hideous makeup off.

Ten whole minutes alter, I'm satisfied with my decent appearance and walk out. I take the tray from Indiana's hands and immerse myself (remember, I basically had eight soup crackers and sixteen shot glasses of vodka for dinner last night) into the food.

Somehow, Indy told the cook to make me a stack of five chocolate chip pancakes and a glass of fresh orange juice.

How considerate of him.

I dig in, smiling contentedly as my mouth is filled with chocolate chip goodness.

"So," I begin, chugging some orange juce, "After I fell asleep, what happened?"

"I went to bed. Got up early this morning and told Abner you were sick. And made you breakfast." He explains.

"You made this?" I ask, taking another bite of luscious pancakes.

"Yeah."

"Holy shit, this is good." I say through a mouthful of food. "Thank you."

He seems unpertrubed by my bad manners (Abners told me at least a million times not to talk with my mouth full). In fact, he smiles at my chocolate covered face.

"No problem. I've got nothing better to do. Abner's at an emergency meeting with Ox."

I finish my pancakes, believing its a new record, five pancakes in two minutes.

"Did he fall for the lie about me having a cold?" I question, scraping the excess chocolate off the late.

"Sure did."

My head begins to throb again, so I lay back down.

"Do you remember what happened last night?" He asks, laying down next to me.

"Yes. I wasn't that drunk." I say pointedly.

"Do you remember what we were talking about as you fell asleep?"

I thought about it.

"As a matter of fact, I do." I say. "You said I was something else and I asked you in what ways. I fell asleep before you could answer."

He looks uncomfortable, looking determinedly at the bed spread.

"What did you say, last night?" I ask.

"I don't remember, I was too tired." He says, and I know he won't budge.

"M'kay." I say, closing my eyes and nodding off.

He ruffles my hair before walking out.

"Jerk." I shout at him, my head pulsing gain much to my displeasure.

"Drunkard." He shoots back, and I can't help but grin as I fall asleep once more.


	48. Change of Plans

I run down to dinner and find the whole family (well, not a family, maybe group of people I'm close to) around the table.

Oxley, Indy and Abner are all in deep conversation.

"What's going on?" I ask, sitting down next to Indy.

"We're going away for the summer." Abner says gruffly.

"WHAT?!" I yell, nearly leaping out of my seat.

"Marion, we know where the Head Piece is." Oxley explains excitedly, his blue eyes alight.

"Where?" I ask.

"It's hidden in a tomb a few miles south of Cairo." Abner answered.

I sit in silence for a few minutes.

"When do you leave?" I ask, looking from face to face.

"A week from tomorrow."

"Oh." I say, sitting down. I'm never included on these trips, so I know that the disappointment is just how its going to be.

"Would you like to come, Marion?"

I look up at Abner, his green eyes, so similar to mine, are twinkling.

"Hell yes!" I shout. "Are we going by plane or boat?"

"Plane, and don't swear Marion." Abner reprimands.

"And what are we going to be doing in Cairo?" I ask.

"We will be digging. But you will have other jobs. You'll sort of be our unofficial assistant." Oxley says, winking at me.

I can't help but beam, happy that I'm being let in on this.

"But Marion, you will have to be cautious." My father warns. "We have a feeling that we're going to be followed and watched. By who, we can't even guess. But we do know that we're not the only ones who want the Headpiece."

The rest of dinner passes in conversation of the trip. I glance over at Jones, knowing he is just as excited about this as I am.

Well, probably not as excited as I am. I nearly bouncing up and down in my seat.

I, seventeen year old Marion Elena Ravenwood, am about to participate in an archaeological dig in CAIRO.

I swear, they should make a movie about my life and its adventures.

Seriously.


	49. Packing

It's the evening before we're supposed to leave and I am freaking out.

I haven't even packed!!

I'm running around my room frantically, packing all clothes I can think of into a GIANT BROWN SUITCASE.

I emphasize the GIANT BROWN SUITCASE part because it's literally so big I could pack myself in it.

"Okay, I've got seven pairs of jeans, ten blouses, four skirts, two pairs of shoes, several pairs of stockings, socks, a pair of men's pajamas because I refuse to wear a nightgown in Cairo, a nightgown just in case Abner finds out about the men's pajamas and flips out, a nightgown cover up and two dresses in case I need to play the part of a real woman." I say to myself, throwing all my favorite books that I stole from the library into the suitcase.

"Who are you talking to?" Jones asks as he walks into my room.

I ignore him, knowing I am forgetting something.

"BLOOMERS!" I yell, leaping over to my drawers and scooping out many pairs before packing them.

Indy blushes as I basically display my undergarments to him.

"Oh don't be a prude." I snap. "I'm sure you've seen much worse than this with other women."

I'm obviously right, because his face turns a particular shade of maroon.

I turn back to my suitcase and try to close it, but it won't zip shut.

"Help me with us." I demand, sitting on the case in an attempt to get it shut.

"You know, with your weight, sitting on the case is not going to make it close any further." He points out, zipping it shut as I squeeze the two sides shut.

"Thanks." I say, both for the comment on my tiny weight and the help with sealing the GIANT BROWN SUITCASE.

"Are you ready for Cairo?" He asks, looking me over.

"Are you?" I ask back.

"Yes. It's one of my first major digs." He explains. "I've been on a few...umm...trips for the local museums collecting certain artifacts, but nothing major."

"Well, this is the most exciting thing thats ever happened to me, so I'm not going to miss out on anything." I say.

He laughs at my eager smile and lifts me off my suitcase, his firm grip on my small waist. As he sets me down on my bed, the fabric of my shirt slips up and his fingers are touching my bare skin. He jerks his hand away and mutters, "Sorry."

I dismiss it, pretending it's not a big deal. I then pick up my suitcase and drag it out my door, down the stairs and towards the cab waiting outside to take our luggage to the airport or tomorrow.

But I notice, as I trip and break a vase in the hallway and it shatters, I can still feel the imprint of his fingers on my waist.

* * *

**Didn't I tell you this was going to get exciting?? Cairo here we come!! Let me know of any typos in these shorts. Review!!**


	50. Flight Attendants

We're just leaving the United States, having taken off in the plane about two hours ago.

I'm about to spring out of my seat and scream, that's how exhilarated I am.

Abner is down at the other end of the plane, seated next to Oxley as they whisper and chatter faster than crazed parakeets.

Indiana is next to me, grudgingly seated closest to the aisle. We earlier had a vicious argument on who would get the window seat; I won.

I'm bouncing my leg repeatedly and looking out the window at the miniature Manhattan below me. Indy is reading a random magazine, looking rather bored.

"I love plane rides." I sigh to myself.

"How many have you been on?" Indy asks.

"Only four. This is my first out of the country though."

"Would you care for some peanuts?" The flight attendant asks, offering both us a bag.

I suddenly realize how starving I am and grab a bag from the ladies hand.

"No thanks, I'll pass." Indy says, nodding to the attendant.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" The attendant asks, turning her full attention to Indy and batting her eyelashes.

Oh great, another one of THESE girls.

I scan her over and realize she's been anticipating talking to Indy since we took off from the landing. Her shirt is a little too unbuttoned, her hair a little too shiny and her eyes a little too flirty for my liking.

An idea forms in my head and I can't help but test it out.

"Actually, there is something you can do." I say. "You see, my husband here has these awful anxiety attacks, what with me, his pregnant wife, to take care of and all. Anyways, he just had one moments ago and it left him exhausted, could you be a doll and bring him a glass of water, please?"

At the words 'my husband' and 'me, his pregnant wife', the flight attendants eyes cease shining with flooziness.

"Ummm..of course. One water for the happy couple." She simpers before walking off.

I smirk and Indy glares furiously at me as the bimbo walks away.

"What?" I ask innocently.

"That was unnecessary." He says.

"She was onto you like flies on shit." I say bluntly.

The man in front of me turns around and gives me a dirty look and asks, "Could you keep down the profanities?"

I ignore him.

"Marion, you may not think so, but I might have not minded if that woman was onto me like flies on shit." Indy snaps.

"She's totally not your type." I add.

"And you would know what my type is?" He questions, facing me completely.

"I know you have absolutely no chemistry at all with idiots." I say, crossing my arms defiantly over my practically flat chest.

"Marion, you shouldn't judge me by what you know about me. You don't even know that much about me to know what I do and don't want in a woman."

"Oh bullshit. I know enough about you to know that having a five minute fling with a flight attendant will do you no good."

"It may interest you to know that I AM a man, Marion and I did in fact find that woman attractive." He says warningly.

"Fine, then go fuck her for all I care!" I cry, throwing my hands up in the air angrily.

The man in front of me turns again and says, "I know drunkards with better manners than you, Missy."

"That's great. Really, I'm touched." I tell him sweetly, biting back a string of curse words directed at him.

I stare out the window for a minute, solemn and pissed as hell. My stomach is sizzling and I don't know why.

"Marion?" Indy asks.

"What?"

"Are you done?"

I pause, taken aback by the sudden questions. "Yes."

"Can I say something?" He asks.

So NOW he wants to be polite?

"Yes." I reply.

Suddenly, he wraps his arms around me in a bracing hug, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that."

I can't help but bury my face into his shoulder, breathing into his shirt. "I'm sorry too." I whisper just loud enough for him to here.

"Marion," Indy says once we separate, "You can't just interfere when a girl looks interested. Just know that I'm smart enough to judge for myself. No matter who I find attractive, you'll always be my best friend."

"Okay, best friend." I say, giving him a small smile.

"And don't worry, there's no reason to be jealous of all these girls because you should know that you come before everyone else." He says firmly, taking a peanut from my bag.

"Of course not dear, why should I be jealous? You're my husband after all." I say, smacking his hand away from MY peanuts.

"Here's your water sir." The attendant says, handing Indy a water. She then casts a meaningful glance at him. "I'll um...be in the back if you NEED anything."

I clench my fist and bite my tongue, nearly shaking in an effort to restrain myself.

Let Indy handle this.

If he wants her, he can have her.

But then, Jones smiles and takes my hand in his.

"Thanks, but I have everything I need right here. My beautiful wife will take care of me." He says.

I give a cheesy smile and nudge him in the arm. "Oh Henry. Such a charmer."

The attendant walks away without another glance at us.

I look at Indy and we both burst into peals of silent laughter.

Silly flight attendants, Indiana Jones is my husband.

Ha.

* * *

**Sorry for the extreme cussing. I didn't like it either, but I had to have it. The short didn't feel complete without it. Go ahead and bash me, but just to let you know I did it sorely for the characterization. This was almost 1000 words long, but thankfully I restrained from going overboard. Let me know of any typos. **

**REVIEW!**


	51. Observing the Sleeper

We're now flying somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

It's about four 'o clock in the morning. Everyone else on the plane is asleep, whereas I'm wide awake, staring out the window at the midnight sky.

I hear a mumble behind me and turn to look at Indy.

He's leaning on his slightly reclined chair, eyes closed.

My lips can't help but twist into a smile as his dark, defined brows crease as he sleeps. His chest rises and falls slowly and steadily.

I start to think about everything that's happened between the two of us. I've only known him for about two and a half months now. He's put up with me for almost three freaking months. He must have a really patient mental capacity. I really admire him for his grit.

He shifts in his sleep and is now facing me, his eye lashes fluttering slightly as he dreams. I almost wish his eyes were open, so I could lose myself in those honey tinted depths.

As quietly as possible, I lean forward and fix his hair, which is a little mussed from sitting against the seat. I find I like the feel of his light brown hair as my fingers brush over it.

Suddenly, he parts his lips and inhales sharply, and his face contorts into one of pain. I freeze, completely rooted to the spot.

And then his face relaxes and he exhales smoothly, and I detect the scent of peppermint on his breath.

He said I was his best friend. I like having that title. I like it a lot.

But what if it's not enough for me?

What if I want to be...

Oh.

My.

God.

Snap out of it!

What the hell is wrong with me?

Why am I even thinking like that?

StopitstopitstopitstopitstopitSTOPIT!!

I bang my head on the window a few times just to clear any rancid thoughts out.

Okay, I'm better now.

* * *

**Sorry, only two updates today for you all. I've got other stories to work on. Sorry!**

**REVIEW!**


	52. Welcome to Cairo

It's about two 'o clock in the afternoon as we walk off the plane.

I nearly go flying backwards as a blast of heat meets me was I walk off the landing to grab my suitcase.

We hop in a car and drive about ten minutes. I'm so tired my eyes are drooping because I didn't sleep once on the plane. I was wired and last night's thoughts had me...aggravated.

"Hey, are you okay?" Indy asks, nudging me in the ribs.

"Yeah, I'm just exhausted. I didn't sleep at all on the plane."

"Wow, You must have really been irked by something."

Ha, you have no idea Jones.

We pull up to a small building in the outskirts of Cairo. A burly, Egyptian man walks out of the house, greeting us all with a warm handshake.

"Welcome to my home, Mr. Ravenwood. I am Sallah."

He looks about as old as Indy, if not a few years older.

"Oh please, Sallah, my old friend. Lets skip the formalities. This is Oxley, who you already know, Indiana Jones, my pupil and my daughter, Marion."

I shake is hand again. He seems to be one of those people who can simply radiate with happiness. A smile spreads throughout my face.

He then takes the wheel of the car and drives us about five minutes until we come up to several clusters of tents in the middle of the desert.

We get out, me suffering under the enormous weight of my trunk. I then sit down cross legged on the sandy floor, totally fatigued.

"Here, you will stay. The remaining diggers will be here tomorrow. Food is in the giant meeting tent in the middle. Marion, your tent is the small one on the edge, Jones, yours is next to hers, Oxley and Abner will share one in the middle. The rest of the tents are for the workers. I will be joining you here tomorrow night."

He then whispers something to Abner at which the old man's eyes narrow. I start to feel an edge of curiosity.

Nevertheless, I hitch up my trunk and stumble into my tent, which is far from small. It contains a desk, a cot, a basin full of cool desert water and a mirror attached to a post.

I smile appreciatively and begin to unpack my trunk. My eyes threaten to droop lower so I hurry up unpacking and then collapse my bed, sifting into a dreamless sleep.

Well, I might have dreamed, but I don't remember what about.

Sleep is all that matters at the moment.

* * *

**A useless shot such as this is essential for Marion, just so you guys can get the visual picture of where they are staying. REVIEW!**


	53. Waking, Talking and Eating

I wake up at seven this morning, having slept about fifteen hours.

I stretch, blinking like an owl as I climb out of bed.

Realizing that I'm still dressed in yesterday's clothing, I change into another blouse (this time its green) and a skirt (as much as I despise womanly clothing, skirts I can work with). My hair is unnaturally tame-able and curly today (probably because of the sudden heat), so I put it up into a nice, out-of-my-face, bouncy ponytail. I splash some water on my dirty face and dry it quickly.

Slipping on my sandals, I walk out of the tent as quietly as possible. I survey my setting, about a dozen dirt colored tents of multiple sizes, a desolate landscape of sand dunes and a giant sun that is producing way too much heat for my liking.

I walk forward and continue to look around the camp. Suddenly, a hand clamps down on my shoulder and I whirl around, my fists clenched in preparation to kick ass.

"Good morning to you too." Indy says.

"Oh, I didn't know it was you." I say with a sigh of relief.

"So, what are you up to on this fine sweltering morning?" He asks with a yawn.

"Just poking around." I say.

My stomach rumbles. "Are you hungry? Because I'm starving."

"Meeting tent. Last one there is a sissy." He says, taking off.

"Hey! That's not fair!" I shout, running after him into the tent.

He beats me.

Damn him and his extremely fast legs!

"Alright, it looks like we've got scones, fruit and dried meat." He says, throwing me one the following.

I dig in eagerly, starving as hell.

"So, when do you think we'll start digging?" I ask, taking a bite out of some weird little brown thing that I've heard is called a 'date'.

"Probably when the rest of the diggers get here. We have to find the tomb first. And you're not digging, remember?"

"Oh, right. I do errands." I remind myself with a laugh.

"So, tell me." He says, taking another scone from the bin and biting into it. "What was keeping you awake on the plane? We had plenty of time to go to sleep."

I chew slowly on my scone. "I'm not sure. I was getting...easily distracted."

"By what? It's a plane ride. The most interesting thing was the flirtatious flight attendants." He says, leaning against the leg of the table.

That's what you think.

"I just like looking at the stars. You don't see lots of them in Chicago." I lie, crossing my legs. "It gave me some time to think about life.

And the fact that you are extremely attractive.

"Hm. You know what I like to do on airplanes?" Indy asks.

"What?"

Eternally torture me?

"I like to pretend I'm asleep and listen to conversations around me. I pick up quick information that way."

I freeze.

Was he really doing that on the plane?

"Only I didn't do it on that particular plane ride because I was too tired to not fall asleep." He adds.

I nearly laugh with relief.

A shadow passes over the ground floor as Abner and Oxley enter.

"Goodmorning you two. I hope you're ready for a day of hard work." Abner says, actually sitting at the table and not below it like Indy and I.

"Hey Marion. Henry." Oxley says amiably, smiling at both of us.

"Ox, c'mon. Call me Indy." Indy says with a grimace

"No thank you. Henry is your name and so it will remain in my book." Oxley replies, his red hair glinting in the sunlight.

"Always the gentleman, Oxley." I say, standing and giving a mock curtsy.

"Marion, be back here in an hour so I can give you my first assignment." Abner calls as I walk out.

"Alright!" I shout back, enjoying the million degree sun that is hitting my face.

My first real job as an Archaeologist's Daughter.

I can hardly wait.


	54. Task Number One

"Marion," Abner says, walking in front of me like a drill sergeant, "Your first task is to drive the car to the market place and pick up these groceries."

He hands me a list.

"I get to drive my own car?" I ask, really getting excited.

You see, Abner has taught me how to drive, but he just doesn't like me doing it, what with my gift of bringing chaos and all.

"Well, you won't be going alone. Indy will be going with you." Abner says, nodding at Jones, who is next to me.

I take the list from Abner's hand. "Fine, he can come, but I can drive, right?"

"As long as you don't go too fast!" Abner calls as I walk towards the car and hop in the front seat.

"Define fast." I mutter under my breath as Indy gets in the passenger seat.

As soon as he closes the door I put the pedal to the metal and tear out of the camp.

Oddly enough, instead of looking at me as if I'm completely off my rocker, Indy looks calmly over at the speedometer and says, "Is that as fast as you can go?"

I roll my eyes. "This car doesn't have that great of an engine. Abner said its quite old. I'm guessing its a 1909 model, but I could be wrong."

"Since when do you know so much about cars?" He asks.

"I used to street race. I know these rubber band engines aren't worth much and don't run well while speeding, but find your self a dirt road or an empty field and you could go miles."

He gives me a speculating look and I have to look away, out the window. I can't handle those hazel eyes at the moment.

We pull up to the market place, and I park the car in a small alleyway.

"Alright, well the list says we need paper first. So, lets go." I walk boldly down the market place, Indiana trailing behind me.

"Excuse me, do you know where I can find paper?" I ask a random passerby.

"Try going down two blocks, and then make a right." He says, and I walk away.

We walk into this dinghy little shop on the corner of another alleyway.

"Hello?" I ask, opening the door.

A young man with an eye patch walks out from the back of the store.

"Hello young Lady. What can I do for you?" He asks in a silky voice that reminds me of a snake.

"I need two stacks of fresh paper." I order, looking him square in the eye.

He barks a few sentences in a language I do not know, but I see Indy narrow his eyes suspiciously.

"Hold on just a minute, it will be right out." He says.

I take a seat at a table as the eye-patch man vanishes.

Indy sits next to me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, daring to look at his face.

He doesn't answer, his eyes are measuring every inch of the room, as if calculating something that I have no clue about.

The eye patch man is back. I mentally name him Patches.

"So, what would a couple such as yourselves be needing paper for?"

"Oh, we're not a couple." I say brashly. "The paper is for my father."

"Is your father a native of Cairo?"

"No." I tell Patches. "We're here on an expedition. We're out in the desert searching for the-." I stop, seeing the look on Indy's face. Not only is it conveying two plain words: SHUT UP, but it is also looking extremely angry.

"Go on." Patches prods, leaning forward on the counter.

"We're looking for fossils. We heard there were dinosaur bones out there somewhere." I lie easily. It's my specialty.

A small boy brings forward the paper, I pay and then we both walk out. Indy's face is murderous looking, as he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks beside me.

I pick up the rest of the groceries and walk soberly back to the car.

"Dammit Marion, what the hell were you thinking?" He asks, slamming his fist on the dashboard as soon as we get in and close the doors.

"I was simply talking to Patches!" I explain defensively.

"Patches?" He asks, looking really confused.

"Never mind." I tell him, shaking my head. "It's not like no one knows we're here. A camp sitting outside of the city in the desert in not exactly unnoticeable!"

"Marion, they know we're here, but they don't know what for. If THEY found out what we were looking for, trouble would certainly spell out."

"Who is this THEY you are talking about?" I ask, my voice starting to raise.

"It doesn't matter." He dismisses. "You don't want to go blurting out things. You just don't. It's dangerous."

"Why?" I ask, now yelling. "Why is it dangerous? Who are we hiding from? Are we doing something illegal?"

I knew it, leave it to Abner to go looking for something without permission.

"No, it's not illegal." He says heatedly. "And we're not hiding from anyone."

I quiet down, my mind buzzing over with questions.

"I'll keep my mouth shut from now on." I promise.

"I'll have to make sure Abner gives you easier chores from now on." He jokes.

I look down, ashamed. Why the crap can't I do anything right?

"Hey there," He says, chucking my chin, "You're alright. A damn good liar, might I add."

I grin at him and start the engine.

This time, I REALLY go fast.

"Is this speed good for you?" I ask, as buildings fly by us.

I look over at him, gripping the seat with both hands and nodding dumbly, and let out a laugh.

* * *

**Okay, I have a few more depressing announcements. I'm going on vacation for a week AGAIN. I leave on Sunday and come back Sunday and I'm going to a place where computers cannot be found. I'm sorry for the pain its causing you all and I love you all for being patient. Just hang in there. I'll try to update a few more times before I go. **

**REVIEW!**


	55. Insomnia

I can't sleep.

I've been trying for hours but I just can't.

It's really cool at night, despite the high temperatures we have during the day. It's insane. I have one blanket for my cot and I'm practically freezing in my men's pajamas.

I stand up and walk outside, enjoying the cool breeze that whips around my face. I close my eyes and breath deeply, opening my arms as if to welcome the relaxing weather.

I look up at the stars, trying to imagine what it would be like to belong with them, to get to stare down at Earth and watch all its little stupid activities going on. There's so many stars, I feel like I could lose myself among them. It scares me in a way.

Suddenly, I see a figure standing a few yards next to me. I smile to myself and look down at my feet.

"You couldn't sleep either?" I ask, my eyes slowly traveling over to him.

"No. I've got too much to think about for sleep." He says.

"I don't think you should be worried. The digging has already started. You won't miss out on anything, except maybe a few extra shovels full of dirt."

He laughs, a grin flashing across his face. "Do you plan to participate?"

"What else have I got to do? Of course, I'm a girl, so I should stay inside, worrying about getting sunburn." I say sarcastically.

"Yes, you should." He agrees, nodding.

I walk over to him and face him, till we're just a mere foot apart. "You shouldn't worry about me, Indiana Jones. I'm a tough girl. I can tie my own shoes and even drive a car."

Another gust of wind blows by and I shiver, goosebumps covering my arms.

"You're cold. You should go inside and sleep." He says.

"So should you." I reply, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll go if you go." He compromises.

"Okay."

I walk away and he grabs my arm and pulls me to him in a warm hug.

For some reason, I realize how our chests are touching, our hearts separated by a thin layer of skin and clothes. This thought sends my heart racing, so fast and loud that I'm sure he can hear it. His embrace is so sure, so confident that I secretly feel like melting into him, not even letting go.

It's only when we release each other that I get my real brain back. The horror at my previous feelings sends me mentally spiraling.

"Goodnight Marion." He says as I walk quickly back to my tent.

I stop, my hand at the flap of my 'room'.

"Goodnight, Indy." I say softly.

I'm not even sure if he did hear it. My goodnight, I mean. Like all the rest of the crazy thoughts going through my head, I just want it to blow away with the wind and never be seen again.

Something, I'm not sure what, but SOMETHING is definitely wrong with me.

* * *

**Only two shots today because I'm going to give you guys a big batch on Saturday before I go on vacation. Please be courteous and review. Let me know of any typos. **

**REVIEW!**


	56. Pitcher Girl

My new name is Pitcher Girl.

Why?

Because, Abner gave me the job of bringing water to all the diggers. I sit under the Ramada and every time someone yells, "PITCHER!" I run over and give him a drink from my bucket.

We've now been in Cairo for two days now. I haven't hardly spent anytime with Indy at all. I woke up late this morning because I was up late last night, even after I talked with Indy. I almost miss him.

Almost.

I'm now wearing jeans and another blouse. My hair is pulled back again and I'm still in my sandals, despite the fact that Abner says I should be wearing a dress and heels.

My father is homicidal towards me, I just know it.

"PITCHER GIRL!" Shouts one of the workers on the North side of the digging area.

I pick up my bucket and run over to his side.

The place we are digging in is about the size of my house in diameter and rounded in the edges. According to Abner and Oxley, the tomb was in the shape of the sun, in honor of the Sun Gods.

Fine by me.

I scramble over to my caller, whose name I think is Halil.

"Here's one water for you, Mr. Halil." I say, dipping the ladle in the bucket and handing it to him.

I rather like these Egyptian men, I really do. So far, none of them have looked at me like I'm a prize toy, nor has anyone made passes at me or flirted outrageously. They're courteous, and know to give me space.

I could really get used to this treatment. Seeing as I'm the only girl here for about three miles or so.

"Pitcher girl!" Another worker calls as Halil gives me back the ladle and goes back to shoveling.

"Coming!" I yell, running as fast as my feet can carry me.

I hand the pitcher to the worker who called for it, and find that I'm next to Indy's work area.

"Where's Jones?" I ask the pitcher drinker.

"Ah, Pitcher Girl, he went to go find something called his 'Fedora'."

"Fedora? What the hell is a fedora?" I ask both the worker and myself.

Another guy calls for water before I can stay around to find out whatever the hell a 'Fedora' is.


	57. Fedora

The next day, I still haven't seen Indy at all.

I'm still Pitcher Girl, and even though its repetitive work, I still like it.

The workers have gotten about a foot into the ground. Abner says the tombs about ten feet under. And once we find the Head Piece, we're going to explore the rest of the tomb and make sure everything in it has been has found.

Anyways, I'm lying in the Ramada when someone calls for water.

I stand up, dragging my bucket. I was up late last night trying to focus on something useful to dream about.

Besides Indiana Jones!!

I walk towards the voice and then stop, nearly dropping the bucket and ladle all together.

Holy. Freaking. Shit.

Indy is standing there, a few feet in front of me, leaning on his shovel. With all but the PRESENCE OF A GOD!!

He's wearing his normal khaki pants and shoes, but his shirt is white, slightly dirty, and the sleeves are rolled up to the elbow. And, his shirt is not exactly buttoned up ALL the way.

And he's wearing this hat. This AMAZING hat, that I know must be the Fedora.

It's brown, and looks slightly tattered, like its had a rough life. It's got this bend to the rim that makes it incredibly appealing.

I want that hat.

I've made it my life's goal to wear that hat.

"Hey, heard you've got a new name, Pitcher Girl." He says, nodding his head in my direction.

I'm practically speechless.

"Yeah, I've got a new name." I tell him, handing him the ladle. "Nice hat. Where'd you get it?"

"It's a long story." He says, sitting down. "I'll tell you next time you can't sleep. I forgot that I had packed it."

I sit down next t him as he gulps the water.

"I really like that hat. I want your hat." I declare, reaching for it.

"Ah, but you have to earn it." He says. "I have to approve of you before you even try it on."

"Try to hold it from me, Jones." I say smoothly. "But don't even bother, I always get what I want."

"Because you're rich?" He asks teasingly, as I pour him another pitcher.

"No, because I'm a scheming, conniving girl who will stop at nothing." I say, standing up and then tripping over my feet and falling back down.

"Ow! Why must I always fall on my ass?" I ask rhetorically with a sigh.

"If you didn't fall,Sweetheart, you wouldn't have as much charm as you do." He says, leaning down to look directly at me.

He's holding me to his gaze. I can't get out. I need to get out, I'm falling. I'm falling into a molten gold abyss.

I suddenly realize that five different people are calling for me.

I shake my head and stand up.

"I prefer Pitcher Girl to Sweetheart." I tell him coldly, flicking a bit of water on his shoulder.

"Then I preferred to be called 'Your Highness'." He replies, beginning to shovel again.

I blink oddly at him. Glowing in his fedora and hazel godliness. I walk away, trying really hard to sift my thoughts to something else.

Now, I guess I have to admit that Indiana Jones is attractive in every way on the outside.

But that still doesn't mean that I AM attracted to him.

I'm not.

I swear.


	58. Lunch

About a week later the entire company of workers is on Lunch break at the moment.

I'm sitting at my table, really tired but trying to scheme up a plan of getting that hat.

I WANT that Fedora.

Indy sits next to me and I try and snatch it from his hands.

The hat, I mean.

"Ah-ah-ah." He says, snatching it out of my grasp.

"Screw you!" I shout, sending the workers into roars of laughter.

All the men here have this odd obsession with watching Indiana Jones and Marion Ravenwood spats. Its weird, because everything we say, no matter how vulgar it is, seems hilarious to them.

"So, have you gotten any inside scoop on the dig from the old man?" I ask once we settle down and begin to eat (well, if you call the way I inhale food eating).

"In a month we'll have the entire tomb uncovered. They think the Headpiece will be in the lowest chamber, but that's all they would tell me."

I take a bite of a loaf of bread and chew it slowly. "Indy?" I ask through a mouthful of bread.

"What?"

"Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if Archaeology didn't exist?"

He gives me a sideways glance that assures me I am insane. "I'd probably kill myself."

"Would you miss me?" I ask, batting my eyelashes like the Flight Attendant.

He considers me for a moment, before shaking his head.

"Not really."

I slap him on the shoulder and run off before he can grab me. I eventually wander back to the table warily when the coast is clear, but I can tell that I am totally and completely forgiven by the smile threatening to break his face.

That gorgeous, sexy, make-me-swoon-till-I-hit-the-ground smile.

* * *

**Okay, I've decided to only do a one or two shots a day, and have the story completely finished by the end of summer. It'll work out perfectly, and yes, the story is planned out so I know how everything is going to go.**

**Oh, and I have a poll on my Author's page that I need you guys to vote on. It matters for the story!! **


	59. Phase

I've decided that my physical attraction to Indiana Jones is simply a phase.

I found this out while sitting next to him at breakfast this morning.

I wasn't jumpy.

Nor did I find my stomach flopping at the sight of his eyes.

I mean, I've read all those trashy romance novels. In them, the heroine is supposed to near lose it at the sight of the hero. She's supposed to basically melt when he looks at her.

And since I don't melt when I talk to Indy, it obviously means I don't like hm.

I'm allowed to find him attractive. All girls with brains should find him attractive.

I just don't see him in a romantic sense, that's it.

After all, he is one of my best friends.

Plus, I don't date.

And now, as I sit in the shade of my skimpy little tent with Pitcher in hand, I know that us two in a relationship would never work out.

Not that I ever thought about a romantic relationship between him and I.

Because I didn't.

Ever.

The thing is, I'm too insane. I'm a walking, talking disaster waiting to happen.

And he's the definition of perfect.

Too others, I mean.

Obviously, he's not perfect in MY eyes, because that would mean I like him.

Which I don't.

He's just my friend.

I walk off to another worker with the Pitcher, trying to convince myself that I'm right.

Which I am.

Right?


	60. Story

One evening I am finding it impossible to sleep.

There are shouts of laughter and cheers coming from outside. I slam my head under my pillow in an attempt to stifle the noise.

Eventually, I can't stand it.

I leap from bed and storm out the flap of my tent, completely prepared to shut them all up with a long string of profanities.

The entire company of workers (Abner and Oxley included) are sitting around a campfire. Indy is standing next to the fire and everyone is paying attention to him.

I duck back into my tent, leaving the flap open just an inch so I can watch what's going on.

"And then, I told my fellow scouts to get the police, so I was left behind." Indy explains, his hands moving in odd gesticulation.

I assume he's telling some made up story.

I decide to grudgingly listen.

You know, because the story just MIGHT be entertaining.

Jones goes on about this cross that these grave diggers found when he was a teen and how he stole it. There was a wild train chase and when he got home the grave diggers caught him and made him hand over the artifact.

I can not BELIEVE how far fetched this story is.

I nearly crack up when I see the faces of Sallah and all the other workers. Their eyes are round with excitement and the smiles on their faces are bigger than their heads.

After Indiana finishes his tale (the robbers gave him the infamous Fedora as a token for wasted bravery and left) the entire groups bursts into cheers, which I find rather amusing.

Indy gives a slightly dramatic bow and then departs for his tent. I feel the slightest inclination to follow him and ask him to tell me the story again, but I'm able to hold my idiotic self back.

The crowd breaks up and the men all head off to their tents.

I continue to stare at the campfire.

I'll have to beat that story.

I mean, Indy's my friend, but I can't let him have all the glory.

And besides, no one can match the extreme stories of Marion Elena Ravenwood.

* * *

**Okay, I apologize for not posting yesterday. You see, I was reading the two books New Moon and Eclipse for the first time and I wasn't sure I could stop without suffering a heart attack. I haven't finished eclipse, so you may or not get an update tomorrow. I suck, I know, feel free to berate me for being suckish as much as possible.**

**Another note, for those of you that DID NOT VOTE on my profile poll, please do so. I will take the poll down by the end of next week and I know more than simply 18 people read this story. Please vote.**

**And review too! Because I love you all and you love this story!**


	61. Waitress

It's mid-June and Abner has decided to let the whole company of workers off on a break for the day.

Indy and I decide to go out to lunch.

You know, as a strictly platonic outing.

We ask around for recommendations and settle on the place where the rest of the workers are going; a place called the 'Siren's Lair'.

We walk in, a gesture that signals the workers to wave and shout, "Indy and Pitcher Girl!"

With a small smile I seat myself at a table for two. I try to cross my legs and look sophisticated, but then I figure that its useless to do something for no purpose.

Because there IS no purpose in trying to look sophisticated.

I drum my fingers impatiently on the table.

"Hungry much?" Indy asks, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair.

"Starving." I say firmly, forcing my gaze down so I cannot look at Indy's hair.

Suddenly, as if on cue, the waitresses walk out and start taking orders.

My jaw drops.

Now I know why this place is called the 'Siren's Lair'.

The waitresses are all women, BEAUTIFUL, olive-skinned, sultry eyed women.

And they are all dressed in skanky, revealing tops and bottoms. Navels pierced, and faces adorned with glittery make-up, I can tell that I probably won't be able to drag Indy out of this place.

"Indy?" I ask quietly, knowing its a hopeless attempt to grab his attention.

His eyes are completely magnetized to the waitresses, and it doesn't help when their hips start to sway. Bile rises to the back of my throat.

The tallest and slimmest of the women walks over to the table and sits right on Jones' lap. My jaw clenches and my eyes narrow.

But I am not jealous.

I AM NOT WISHING I WAS THE ONE SITTING ON HIS LAP.

I just don't like the whore hovering over my best friend.

"Can I get something for you?" She asks, leveling Indy with a secretive stare.

"Yeah, I'll have a humus please!" I shout, making her jump as if she just notices me.

"And you, sir?" She asks, ignoring me.

"I'll er...have the same." He says.

She walks away, swinging her hips slowly. I see his eyes widen at this motion.

"Stop it." I growl, now gripping my chair with both hands.

"What, are you jealous?" He asks, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Oh, spare me." I spit sarcastically. "I'm merely watching out for you, Jones."

"Says the girl who trips and breaks everything." He mutters, despite my piercing look in response.

The waitress comes back and sets our food on the table. She leans into Indy and gets VERY CLOSE to him.

"Is that all?" She breathes.

Jones looks like he wants so much more than just food from that girl. Nevertheless, he manages to mutter, "Yeah, that's all."

What is it with these service women? Why are they all after MY, ahem, NOT MY Indiana Jones.

I cross my arms moodily and tear into my food. Indy smirks and goes to his food as well.

This is one battle against the flirty women after Jones that I did NOT win.

Stupid belly-dancers from hell.

* * *

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	62. Hair

I'm standing in my tent, trying to put my hair up.

You know, the hair I can't stand and want to shave off completely.

Even though it's the same color as my mother's (onyx) and can be wavy and pretty, I hate it.

And, my loathing for my hair intensifies as the heat makes it feel sticky and even more harder to put up.

So, here I have been for the last half-hour, trying to put it up into a decent, out-of-my-face ponytail.

I've been putting it up everyday since the age of seven so I don't understand why it's being so difficult now.

I shake my fist at myself in the mirror, fuming irritably.

As I furiously brush it out again, my mind wanders over to the tent next to me, curious as to what it's guest is doing at this particular moment in time...

I stop, my eyes widening.

I slap my face lightly.

I CAN'T be curious as to what Indy is doing in his tent next door.

I just can't.

I manage to put the pony-tail up and smirk at my reflection.

Suddenly, someone whispers in my ear.

"Boo."

I nearly jump out of my skin, flying around and punching whoever is assaulting me in my own tent. I freeze, fist in mid-air when I see Indiana Jones standing in front of me.

"Jesus Christ! Don't do that again!" I yell, slapping him on the arm.

"Sorry, I thought you saw me in your mirror." He says, wincing in pain.

I blink, finding it odd that I DIDN'T see him in my mirror. I must have been too absorbed in my own thoughts to notice him there.

Behind me.

Whispering and breathing in my ear...

STOP IT.

"Well, we need to go work now." I say, trying to clear my head as I put my brush on my sink.

I walk ahead of him but he grabs my hand and whips me around.

We're too close. Somehow, he managed to yank me right over to him, so we're invading comfort zones a little too much.

My heart gives an involuntary spasm, but I don't know why.

He reaches out with his left hand (his right is still clutching MY hand) and brushes a stray strand of my hair behind my ear.

For some reason, I can't think.

"Do you always have to wear your hair up?" He asks, almost groans, as if my hair being up hurts him personally.

"Yes." I say softly, for my voice is losing itself. "It's hot out. And my hair is too crazy to tame."

His hands are now reaching behind my head, tugging oh-so-lightly at the ribbon I tied it up with it. My hair fans out around my shoulders, bouncing slightly as it falls.

His hands are now reaching around and cupping my cheeks, along with my hair.

"But its so soft and pretty." He argues with a smile, rubbing his thumbs along my cheeks.

What are we talking about again?

Breathe in. Breathe put.

I can't seem to move. I'm rotted to the spot.

"If it makes you happy." I shrug, trying to act like the things he's doing and the way he's touching me is no big whoop.

He leans forward, so we're practically eye to eye.

Oh, god, his EYES.

"It would." He says.

A gust of wind suddenly fills the tent and my senses are cleared, I can breathe again.

"Fine." I say, stepping slyly away from him. "But just for today."

I walk out of the tent, nearly wanting to beat myself with a stick.

I hate my hair.

Why does he like it?

Why would he like it?

And why does he keep touching me like I'm a precious jewel to him?!

My eyes follow Indy as he walks over to the digging area, and I see him glance at me.

And I swear that just before he turns to his work, the cockiest of smiles is tugging at the corners of his lips.

I sigh.

Why is this getting harder and harder for me to understand?

* * *

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	63. Writing

I'm supposed to be sleeping right now.

Ew.

I decide to write a little, just for kicks.

I walk over to my desk and pull out some paper and a pen. I sit pondering, not sure what to put down into words.

I write the first thing that comes to my head.

Indiana Jones.

I find that I like the look of it on paper. I write it over and over again, all over the paper. The two words are ringing in my head like the loud pealing of bells in the chapel.

I lose myself, lose all sense of what I am doing. I just have to write that name. One more time...one more time.

I stop.

And see a piece of paper completely covered with the name Indiana Jones.

I say his name repeatedly in my head, Indy, Indy, Indy, Indy.

It is a rather sexy name, I begin to find.

Indiana Jones.

Marion Ravenwood.

Marion Jones.

Mrs. Indiana Jones.

You know, it kind of has a nice ring to it...

I blink in horror at the wistful thoughts pouring throughout my mind.

I slap myself in an attempt to wake up out of this haze. I tear the paper with Indy's name on it into pieces and walk to the campfire, throwing them in with a vicious growl.

The workers glace warily at me, seething and breathing hard. I storm back into my tent, pacing back and forth as I try to make sense of things.

I hate writing.

It's evil. It's demonic.

And it makes me think about things that should NOT be thought about.

* * *

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	64. Stories

I walk out of my tent, the cool and oddly chilling air hitting my face like a fist.

I eye the circle of workers around the campfire, and slowly walk over when I see Indy, a sly smile on my face.

"Pitcher Girl!" They all chorus, greeting me as I walk to the center of the circle where Jones is.

I turn to him and give a falsely sweet grin, which I can know he can see right through. He grins back all the same.

"Hello, Marion." He says quietly, in the way I have always adored. Like he regrets greeting me but loves doing it all the same.

"Good evening Doctor Jones." I simper, giving him a wink. "Would you care to hear a story?"

I ask the question to the whole circle of people, who all cheer and chatter excitedly.

"Um, isn't that my job, to entertain?" He asks, looking quite reluctant to leave his post.

I feel rather overpowering, despite the fact that Indy towers over me with his colossal height. I try to make myself look as big as possible.

"Go sit down before you hurt yourself, Jonesie." I command calmly, much to the uproarious laughter of the workers.

Indy grumbles, but goes to sit down anyway, knowing defeat is inevitable.

I clear my throat and raise a hand, silencing the company.

"Now." I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. "Have you ever heard the story of the lovely Lady Elizabeth, who all but killed her lover, John Harrington, when she killed herself and preceded to haunt his house?"

They clearly haven't; I am making this up as I go along. I then continue to spin out a horrific tale about a girl who haunts his house and kills any women that stay there. It was a pretty chilling story, if I say so myself. The looks on everyone's faces were priceless, they looked as if they could shit their pants any minute.

I sealed the story with the traumatized widower (John Harrington) throwing himself off the high most balcony when he sees the ghost of Elizabeth.

"From then on," I concluded in a dark tone, "No one ever dared to set foot near Harrington Manor."

My ending was met first with a moment of absolute stunned silence, as the workers stared in horror at the night sky, obviously thinking about the story.

But then, they all burst into a raucous applause.

The meaning was clear; I have uprooted Indy from his position as head story teller.

I turn to smile at everyone and see Indy staring at me, intense. He is smiling and clapping like the rest of them, but I can't help but know he is searching me for something. I don't know what, his face gives away no details.

With a rather awkward looking curtsy, I leave the center and join the circle as another worker goes forward to tell a story. I sit next to Indy, crossing my legs and resting my chin on my palm.

He stares at me incredulously.

"That was brilliant." He says enthusiastically.

"You think so?" I ask, turning to look at him.

He doesn't have to reply though, I already know that I am genius.

Marion Ravenwood, master story teller.

And her ever-faithful and supportive side-kick, Indiana Jones.

No romance, just friendship.

And everyone lives happily ever after.

The end.

* * *

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**Updates may be scarce this week. You see, I'm at a drama day camp and its intense and I will hardly have any time to update. On Saturday though, I will be back to stay. **


	65. Two Week Update

It's been two weeks and way too much has happened for me to think straight.

It's insane.

But, allow me to address the most important issues first:

1) We have found the tomb. We have finally gotten through! This happened last night, and since then we've not slept at all. Even now, as I'm sitting under a tree at four 'o clock in the morning, the workers have been hard at work (Abner and Oxley included). The goal of today is to get the entire tomb uncovered and THEN, we'll go inside.

2) Something is definitely wrong with me. I know that thing I had for Jones was just a phase, but I don't seem to get it. He just keeps getting more and more appealing to me! I could be eating breakfast and suddenly find myself staring at him as he bends over his own bowl of porridge. I know that he doesn't know anything about my strange attraction to him but I have the oddest feeling that he wants to drive me crazy over it. Of course, we have the playful banter spats in front of everyone but then we also have those moments (like in the tent when I was doing my bloody hair) and I just can't seem to even BREATHE around him.

I truly don't know why my mind seems to be spiraling. I've always been so entirely sure of myself. And no I'm not. All because of this stupid, arrogant, and extremely sexy Indiana Jones.

With a sigh, I lean against the trunk of the tree, my fingers tracing the pattern of the hem of my blouse. For the first time in my life, I truly don't know what I want. I've ALWAYS known what I want. But now, the world seems to have turned my will to mush and my mind to dust.

I sit for another hour, delivering water when its needed and ignoring the freezing cold air of the desert in the early morning. The sun isn't even up yet. When Abner finally decides to dismiss everyone for the day, I traipse back to my tent with a huge yawn.

So far, its been the longest and most confusing two weeks of my life.

* * *

**Sorry for the horrendous wait. I suck. I know, but please do me a favor and review? I think that I might want to get to at least 700 reviews by the end of this story, you know? That would be stupendous!**


	66. Birthday

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" I scream, running into the tent at top speed and jumping up and down on his bed.

I can tell by Indy's groan that he doesn't want my attention at this particular early hour, but I'm much too hyper to take it away from him. I continue to bounce up and down on his bed.

"Wake up! It's not every day you turn twenty seven!" I shout in his ear.

When he gives a candid sigh and rolls over with a grumble, I let out a huffy breath.

This man needs to wake up, I tell you.

As quietly as possible, I take his pillow out from under him and start to hit him over the head continually. He finally sits up, grabbing my wrists and pinning me to the bed so I cannot attack him anymore. He blinks for a few seconds and then stares me down with the sternest of expressions. I feel like a naughty child again.

"Are you done acting like a five-year old, Miss Ravenwood?" He asks, matching me with a hazel gaze.

"What can I say, you bring out the kid in me." I say weakly, finding myself trying to sink deeper into his mattress as he continues to stare at me.

"Alright, well, I'm awake. What can I do for you?" He asks, letting me up.

"Happy Birthday!" I shout, throwing my arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely.

"Thanks." He says with a small grin. "Do I get a present?"

"OF COURSE!" I scream excitedly, running to my tent. "Close your eyes."

I come back into his tent with a box in my hands. I hold it out and tell him to open his eyes.

He looks at the box blankly for a moment, but then takes it from my hands.

He opens it, a smile spreading across his face like sun across a darkened sky.

"You made me a cake?" He asks, looking wondered at the fact that I can actually cook something without setting it on fire.

"Yeah, Sallah's wife helped me." I said sheepishly, looking down at my feet.

This is half true, but I don't need to tell Indy that I was up till four in the morning making it and just arrived at camp about ten minutes ago. I'm acting hyper just so the fatigue doesn't show.

I silently hand him a fork. "Try it."

He takes it tentatively from my hand and takes a bite, chewing it slowly as if to ponder over it. My nails dig into the skin of my palms as I clench my fists in nervousness. Why am I nervous about this?

Suddenly, he rushes forward and scoops me up in his arms. I bleat pathetically for him to let me go, but he ignores me as he spins me around in circles. I feel faintly sick as he sets me down again.

"So, I take it that you like it?" I ask, leaning forward onto his arm as I wobble slightly.

"I love it. I can't believe you knew it was my birthday! I thought you were going to ruin it for me just as I ruined yours!" He says with a bark of laughter.

I can't help but laugh along with him. Four months ago, I probably would have plotted for his downfall on this day, but now, I could never want to even harm a single hair on his head.

"So, on this day, July First, the Great Indiana Jones turns twenty seven." I say, smiling up at him.

"Yes." He clarifies, shaking his head as he smiles back at me. "What time is it?"

"Five thirty." I answer, before letting out a tumultuous yawn.

He studies me for a long minute before saying, "You were up all night making that cake, weren't you?"

I shake my head defiantly, not wanting him to worry about my well-being, but my cover is blown as I yawn for a second time.

"C'mon. You need some sleep." He says, lifting me up again and cradling me in his arms.

"But I'm Pitcher Girl." I protest. "I can't slack on my work."

"I'll tell Abner that you're going to need the day off. I'm sure it'll be fine." He assures me, pulling my tent flap open and carrying me inside.

"Why, in situations such as these, are YOU the one always carrying ME to MY bed. When will I get to do the same for you?" I ask sleepily as he lays me in my cot.

"Sweetheart, when the day comes that you can carry me, you will have earned the Fedora." He says, tucking the blanket around me.

"What if there's another way I can get it from you?" I inquire, closing my eyes.

"Then you'll just have to find that way, won't you?" He inquires back, patting my shoulder as he stands up to go.

"Happy Birthday." I call to him.

His laughter is the last thing I hear before I fall asleep.

* * *

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	67. Midnight Guest

At around twelve thirty that night, I wake up.

I find it hard to believe that I have slept for over twelve hours, but I guess it makes sense.

To certain degree.

I stand up and stretch, feeling slightly achy as I walk over to my sink and rinse my face. I feel a slight bit of regret as I realize I was only present for a fraction of Indy's birthday.

I lean over my basin of water and begin to wash my face, pondering whether I gave Jones enough attention for his birthday. I couldn't have slacked THAT much, I mean, I made a cake after a--.

What was that?

My head snaps up and my eyes narrow as I hear a rustling in the tent next to me.

Laughter.

I hear laughter.

And I bet the devil my soul that I know who that laughter belongs to.

But then it stops, and all is quiet.

I silently start to dry my face on my sleeve, frozen on my feet and rapt with attention, and nearly jump when the laughter starts up again.

But this time, it isn't the single, masculine laugh that makes my blood turn cold. No, this time its the feminine giggle entwined with it that makes me want to tear someone, anyone, to pieces.

In two strides, I'm out of my tent and storming into the cold night air.

As stealthily as possible, I creep a few paces to the right and slide into Indy's tent.

What I see next both horrifies and disgusts me.

It appears that the belly dancer form the 'Siren's Lair' has decided to pay MY friend a visit.

And when I say 'visit', it means she's scheduled a session of tonsil hockey with Jones.

She's ALL OVER HIM, straddling his waist and practically sucking his face off, though its clear Indy isn't being held against his will. He seems to actually LIKE kissing this woman, as well as running his hands along her bare mid-drift. They're both still fully clothed, but I can tell that won't last for much longer.

I'm rooted to the spot, my jaw clenched and my eyes wide. My pulse is thundering and my breathing sounds like that of a dying man, quick and raspy. My heart clenches painfully as I watch them in pure mortification. My mouth is dry, as if I haven't drank in years.

A sudden burst of fury rips through my stomach, and I'm knocked breathless. Colors well up inside of me, making seeing impossible. Splashes of red, green, and yellow cross my vision until I can't think. I literally want to go and beat the hell out of the little slut. I WANT to be the one kissing Indy, embracing him and caressing his face as he caresses mine right back.

The next thing I know, I'm outside the tent clutching my stomach as the colorful emotions well up inside me and wrack through my body. This has to stop. If I don't get control of this situation, I'm sure to go in there screaming.

I walk forward to the well and fill a bucket as fast as I can, not really seeing what I'm doing. It's all in a blur of color, hues and shades of the many things I'm feeling at the moment.

I walk back into his tent, ignoring the bile rising in the back of my throat when I see that she's now tugging frantically at the buttons on his shirt. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind by breathing in some of the cool evening air, but I'm past control.

I walk closer to the cot, my hands shaking violently as I support the heavy bucket of ice-cold water. Without giving it a second rational thought, I dump its contents all over the couple in front of me.

A scream and a shout are all I hear as I get to the tent flap. I turn back once to find Indy staring at me, his gaze written with something so intense that I can't even tell whether its anger or confusion.

With a sneer I run back to my tent, not caring what happens now that I've done my job. My hands are still shaking as I sit back down on my cot and bury my face in my hands. My eyes water, but I refuse to let any tears fall. What is there to cry for?

Thoughts are racing through my mind at light speed and I can't seem to even register what I have done. I clutch at my stomach again as the memory of the belly dancer kissing Indy flashes through my head. I breathe deeply, trying so hard to control myself. My shoulders shake with sobs, but no tears come down.

I'm not jealous.

I'm not angry.

I'm not...anything.

No... I AM everything.

Every emotion representing pain or anger is pouring through me, seeping into every crack and corner of my heart.

It eventually ebbs away, and I am left gasping.

I feel numb now, curled up in a ball on my small, little cot.

I know that my karma will be coming the next morning when I wake up, but I feel it still won't be enough.

I'm not sorry for what I did.

But that doesn't mean I condone it.

The entire camp is silent, and I know that the Midnight Guest has left.

I expect to feel satisfied that my mission is complete.

So why do I feel so...empty?

* * *

**Wow, a lot of angst in that short, if you didn't notice. I hope that turned out to make sense. Tell me of any typos, please.**

**And some of you may notice, its the first time that Marion has gotten truly upset over another woman being with Indy.**

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	68. Avoiding

I'm avoiding Indiana Jones.

Not because I want to.

Not because I have to.

But because I need to.

I'm so mad at him that I could just explode. I'm so so so sick of watching him fool around with any big-breasted mama that walks by. I'm sick of forgiving him for being an arrogant womanizer.

I haven't slept all week, which has probably mounted my anger. I barely talk to anyone. I just don't want to talk. I just want to ignore and avoid Jones because if I talk to him I'll either explode or implode. NOT GOOD.

I'm down in the tomb, as the other workers move around with little dusters as they uncover pieces of bone and rotted corpse. Oddly enough, that doesn't seem to bother me one bit. Hey, I'm an Archaeologist's DAUGHTER. Dead people in my life are like family. I'm pacing back and forth, not really listening to the shouts and mutters around me. I'm just concentrating on the ground.

Suddenly, Jones walks into the tomb and Oxley and Abner wave him over. His eyes meet mine for a mere millisecond, but its enough to make me bite my lip and tear my gaze to the ground. I kick at a random skull in the chalky dust and walk down to the opposite end of the tomb. I run my eyes over the walls, covered in ancient hieroglyphs. I drown out the emotions in my head by occupying myself with worthless things.

I hear someone walk up and stop right next to me. Assuming its one of the workers, I continue to observe the FASCINATING wall. But when I look at the shadow of my companion, outlined fedora and all, I know that I need to leave.

I turn, but he grabs my arm.

"What are you doing?" He asks, leaning forward and leveling me with a stare. I glare fiercely at him before wrenching my arm back and snapping, "I'm avoiding you, Dr. Jones."

"You can't just avoid me Marion." He says, and I can practically hear the grin creeping onto his face.

My temper flares up, and I find myself wanting to lose control, wanting to just throw myself at him and hurt every part of him. But, I'm a mature person, so I keep my composure.

"Watch me." I say quietly, before veering on my heel and walking straight out of the tomb.

My life is falling to pieces.

So much for avoiding HIM at all costs.

Sheesh.

* * *

**Let me know of any typos and please review, as always. I've got a surprise for you next chapter, though its not what you all might think it is...**


	69. Visitor

I'm sitting in my tent, staring at the wall and thinking about nothing in particular. My life is practically meaningless these days.

"Marion, come out here!" My father booms, sounding oddly excited, like a child on Christmas morning.

I lean forward so my mouth is near the tent flap and shout, "I can't, I'm busy!"

Someone walks into my tent as I lay down on my cot with a sigh.

"Go away." I groan, not wanting to talk.

The persons tisks. "Oh, is that really how you greet your best friend?"

That voice is WAY too familiar...

I raise my head and open my eyes and find myself attacked by a pile of blonde hair. My breath rushes out of my lungs as the stranger squeezes me to death.

"C-Carrie?" I gasp, barely breathing as she squeezes me tighter.

She nods into my hair and I finally get feeling back into my arms so I can hug her back. We separate and I run my eyes over her, finding it hard to believe we haven't seen each other in almost two months or so.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?" I practically scream, hugging her fiercely again. The gesture does not go unrequited.

"My dad said I could stop by and visit, since we were on our way home from London." She explains, talking in a lightning fast voice. "I can only stay for a week, but it should be enough to do some damage."

I look at my best friend, bewildered. Her hair, platinum blonde, is more curly at the ends and her face is just as beautiful, bright blue eyes sparkling like sapphires.

"I'm so happy you're here." I breathe, hugging her again just to make sure I'm not dreaming.

"Okay, so tell me." She starts, holding my hands as she swings her body onto my cot and crosses her legs. "What has happened between you and Mr. Jones while I've been gone?"

"I'd rather not talk about that at the moment." I say airily, picking up her suitcase and putting it next to my dresser, taking care to avoid Carrie's searching eyes.

"What happened?" She asks, walking over to me.

"I said I didn't want to talk about it." I grunt, closing my eyes.

"But you will eventually." She confirms, not even asking.

I glance up at her, my best friend, the person I've told everything to since kindergarten. Why is it suddenly so hard to talk to her?

"Of course." I smile. Suddenly, I'm filled with energy again. "C'mon, I have to give you a personal tour of the camp and you have to meet everyone!" I grab her hand and yank her out of the tent.

And for the first time in about two weeks, I'm truly happy.

Best friends have that kind of magic, you know.

* * *

**Yay! Carrie's back!! That was the surprise, just in case you guys didn't know. You probably all hate me because you thought the surprise would be a kiss, but don't worry, it'll come! I thought that Carrie deserved a bigger part in this story, seeing as you guys liked her so much in the beginning. She is, in fact, based off a real friend of mine, so I hope you enjoy reading her as much as I like writing her.**

**Alright, I'm done babbling. Review please! And look for any typos!**


	70. Field Trip

On the third day of her visit, Abner finally lets me show Carrie around the tomb.

As bouncy as ever, my best friend is clearly awed by the size and volume of the tomb. She also finds it amusing when all the workers yell, "Pitcher Girl!" as we walk by.

"And this is where Oxley found the headpiece." I explain, indicating a large nook in the wall.

Carrie lets out a soft, "Oh" beside me.

"So, that concludes our tour. The gift shop is to your left on the way out. Please come again soon." I finish, mocking a tour guide with accurate precision. Carrie bursts into applause as I curtsy.

"What do we do now?" I ask, leading her out of the catacombs back into the hot sun.

"Do you think your dad would let you show me around Cairo?" Carrie inquires, her eyes shining with more excitement than usual.

"I don't know." I say slowly, before turning over my shoulder and hollering, "Hey Abner! Can I take Carrie around the city?"

"As long as Indy can accompany you." My father compromises jovially, as if he hasn't noticed the absolute silence between Jones and I over the last couple weeks.

I see Indy raise his head at the sound of his name, and I can't help but groan out loud. I turn back to Carrie and mouth, "No. Freaking. Way."

She silently pleads, getting down on her knees and clasping her hands, her blue eyes clear pools of water as she tries to persuade me. We both know that I'm touchy and sensitive around the subject of a certain cocky Archaeologist.

I roll my eyes and scoff, finally giving in. "Fine, but you owe me big time."

She jumps up and throws her arms around my neck. "We're going on a field trip! I call shot-gun!" She squeals, sprinting towards the car.

"Get in Jones, we're going window shopping!" I holler, revving up the engine and Carrie hops in next to me.

I don't bother to look in the rear view mirror for Jones as I feel a soft thump in the seat behind me. I look over at Carrie and grin. "Are you ready?"

She is practically shaking as she grips the seat in exultation. "Ready."

I floor it, not even bothering to wonder if there's a speed limit in this desert. We speed along the dirt road, dunes flying past us as I continue to accelerate.

"Isn't this GREAT?!" I yell at the inhabitants of the car. Carrie screams happily in reply, throwing her arms up in the air and as I dare to glance back at Jones, I can tell he's gripping the door handle in terror. To him, it probably looks like I've finally gone off the deep end.

Which I kind of have.

When we get to Cairo, I park the car in an alleyway, take Carrie's hand and lead her through the bustling streets, Indy trailing behind.

We eat lunch in a dingy little cafe, me having ignored Indy's useless request to go to the Siren's Lair. Carrie seems content with everything, laughing and smiling at every little thing she sees.

The three of us remain in Cairo for the rest of the day, going into every single shop that looks interesting. We even walk by the Siren's Lair, and I allow Carrie to peek into the window, just so I can see her disgusted face when she catches sight of what the waitresses dress like.

It's a pretty fun and entertaining day, though the constant presence of Indiana Jones really is a downer for me. I know Carrie sees this, and though she says nothing of it, I know that the gears in her evil brain are turning whenever Indy and I so much as make eye contact.

Arm in arm, Carrie and I walk down the alleyway back towards our car. We're singing some opera ballad at the top of our lungs, laughing hysterically as the sun sinks below the mountains and the sky begins to fade to black. Indy is about ten feet behind us, hands shoved in his pockets as he shuffles along the street.

Carrie suddenly stops walking and singing, gripping my arm with supremely unexpected strength as her eyes are locked on something in front of us.

"What is it?" I ask, not sure why I'm whispering. When Carrie doesn't appear to hear me, I follow her gaze to the car and then I see it. Someone is in our car. And its not me. Or Carrie. Or Indy.

I turn and find that neither Carrie nor Indy are in the alleyway anymore.

Odd...

A pair of hands pull me into a tiny crevice between two buildings. I'm building up a high pitched scream but choke it down when I see two pairs of eyes, one blue and one hazel.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!" I demand at the top of my voice.

Indy is trying to shush me without the use of English language. Carrie is beside him, looking quite petrified.

"Why is someone is our car? Why are we hiding? Why are you...mmph!" My voice is muffled as Jones suddenly leaps forward and smothers my voice with his rough hands. I'm about to retaliate and gratefully punch his lights out, when a harsh voice sounds from the main alley.

"WHO'S THERE?"

It's not a voice I recognize, so I stop struggling and shut up. I'm unable to move my position anyways, seeing as Indy is leaning against me, covering my mouth, his eyes boring deep into mine.

The rush of emotions I've been denying for the last two weeks gradually begin to leak back into my mind, Once again I'm unable to breath, both because my body seems temporarily frozen and because Jones' hand is covering both my mouth and nose.

Unlike I have in the past, I can't seem look away from him. And he's just so CLOSE.

I'm starting to see black spots before my eyes, knowing that if he doesn't let go, I'll faint.

A trickle of footsteps down the alleyway seems to be the signal for safety and when Indy releases me, I fall to the ground, gasping for air. Indy strides past me and stalks towards the car. I glare angrily after him as Carrie wordlessly helps me up. We walk over to the automobile to find Indy already in the driver's seat, starting the engine.

"Get in." He growls.

I do it without hesitation. I want to sit next to him just so I can yell at him. I'm ready to chew him out, but he beats me to it.

"What the hell were you doing?" He practically shouts, driving slowly out of the alleyway.

"What was I doing?" I yell back, feeling the heat rise up quickly to my cheeks despite the rolled down window. "You were the one you yanked me and my best friend into a side alley and tried to suffocate me!"

He doesn't answer, so I continue to plow on. "Someone had broken in the car! I thought you were a defender Jones, but you are always surprising me, pulling us into a side alley to hide, how cowardly."

I know I have hit a nerve when he turns with a grimace, his voice deadly quiet. "They had guns on them, Marion." He explains bluntly.

"Prove it." I challenge.

With a shrug, he hands me two bullet shells. They are still hot.

"So what does this tell us? They didn't take the car, so whats all the fuss?" I snap.

Indy's face contorts as he holds back what is probably a really nasty retort. "They were looking for something."

I share a suspicious glance with Carrie, whose eyes are wide as they dart back and forth between Jones and I.

"For what, exactly?" I ask waspishly, anger still bubbling within me.

He reaches in his rucksack and pulls out a glinting pendant with a ruby in the middle. "The headpiece."

I'm silent for a minute, trying to find a different reason to attack verbally.

"You didn't have to suffocate me though." I inform him, glaring at the door.

"If you would only shut up without me having to do it for you." He snapped back, looking just as equally angry.

"I can take care of myself."

"No you can't."

"Can too."

"Marion!" He grabs my hand in a vice-like grip. "Don't be childish at the moment, now is not the time."

"Well, schedule me an appointment, will you?" I say sarcastically, failing to get my hand OUT of his.

Carrie is staring at the both of us with such attention you'd think we were some volcano just waiting to erupt.

"Will you stop treating me with such distaste?" He asks angrily.

"Will you stop being such an arrogant ass?" I ask back, glaring over at him.

He looks down at our hands, that are somehow perfectly entwined. Our eyes meet and I have a feeling we're thinking along the same lines; HELL. NO. He lets mine go as if its on fire.

"No more field trips." He grumbles as we pull up to the camp, staring moodily out the window.

"Have it your way." I snap, walking to my tent.

Never again will I fall for the pity act of Carrie Smithers.

* * *

**Let me know of any typos, because I'm sure I missed some while editing this thing. Well, this chapter was definitely long enough, over the word limit, I'm sure. 1,604 words to be exact!**

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	71. Sexual Tension

**Mind you, this takes place RIGHT AFTER the last chapter. No skipping ahead. **

* * *

As Carrie and I get ready for bed, I can tell she's nearly bubbling over with God-knows-what. She is fidgeting and keeps glancing over at me as I angrily brush out my hair.

"You know," she begins, buttoning up her men's pajamas (yeah, we're both fans of those), "You and Indy seemed to have a lot of conflict between you two in the car and in the alley."

I don't say anything, knowing she can't beat around the bush for long.

"Did you ever think that Indy just might-"

"No." I cut her off, hating the constricting of my insides.

"It's possible." She says, jumping on our makeshift bed at the bottom of the tent. (I decided to dump the cot for just a week).

I sigh. "Carrie, Jones and I are like two hazardous chemicals. We collide and then explode. We're too dangerous and complicated to possibly even like each other."

I sit next to her and we both lay down, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. I blow out the lantern.

Carrie studies me for a minute, sitting propped up on her elbows. "I know you two are perfect for each other."

"No you don't." I say, though I find myself doubting my own words.

"Yep. You wanna know how I know?" She asks, grinning at me.

I try to resist, but the mischievous glint in my friend's eyes gets the better of me.

"Okay, how do you know?"

Carrie gives it a moment of waiting just for dramatic effect, and then says quietly, "Sexual tension."

"WHAT?" I yell, sitting up as if struck by lightning.

"Sh!" Carrie shushes, putting her pillow to my lips and smothering me in the process. When I finally quiet down, she says it again. "Yes, sexual tension."

"Sexual tension?" I ask weakly, not even knowing what that is.

"You could cut it with a knife." She continues with a sly smile. "In the alleyway, when he was holding you still and keeping you quiet, I saw the way you two were looking at each other. If I wasn't there with you, you probably would have started shagging on the spot!"

I feel appalled that Carrie would actually even THINK that Jones and I are attracted to one another.

"N-no. We're not...we don't...we're just." I splutter, my eyes wide with defiance.

"And in the car," she continued, ignoring me, "You two were holding hands and there was this...spark. You both felt it, so that's why you let go. Its all sexual tension. Even in the little things, like when you yell at him, or glare as he passes by."

I stare at my best friend, bewildered at her assumptions.

"Carrie," I gasp, taking her hands in mine, "Indiana Jones and I are not attracted to each other. We never have been, we never will be." Carrie opens her mouth to interrupt but I stop her. "We were friends, but I can't do this anymore. I'm sick of his childish games." I lay down and face the wall. "Good night."

Carrie giggles and lays down, not fazed at all by my surly mood. "Do you ever think that HE might be tired of YOUR childish games as well, Marion Ravenwood? You two may have more in common than you thought."

With that as a last note, Carrie is asleep in minutes, but I am wide awake, wired. Sexual tension...whose to say that it isn't pulsing between Indy and I like a heartbeat? I am mad at myself for even hoping for this kind of tension, I don't WANT it at all.

But then, that moment in the car, when we were holding hands without even realizing it. Our eyes had met, and in that split second, we seemed to convey some sort of message that I couldn't make out.

A spark...

With a groan of distress, I lay on my back and stare at the ceiling again.

Lack of sleep and stress suddenly weigh down upon me, and I'm asleep in seconds.

My dreams are all involving Carrie, whispering the same thing over and over.

"You could cut that sexual tension with a knife."

* * *

**This short was actually inspired by a review I got a week ago from an anonymous reader by the name of TreeHugger. So, I dedicate this short to her (or him) because they inspired a wicked idea for a chapter in my head, and here's the result. **

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	72. Conference

The next day, Carrie disappears.

Not literally, I see her, but she's up to something that she doesn't want me in on.

And what's worse, she keeps going over and TALKING TO INDIANA JONES.

Even though I love that girl to death, part of me feels like hitting her. She KNOWS that Jones is way off limits, and not because I'm in love with him or anything-- because I AM NOT-- but because he is currently an enemy of her said best friend.

I ignore it, telling myself that Carrie couldn't possibly be up to anything worth worrying about, yet something in the back of my mind says differently. I know my best friend, and therefore, I know when something scheming and diabolical is churning in her evil head.

Well, speak of the devil.

"Marion?" She asks, running inside my tent.

"I'm busy." I pout, though I'm obviously not acting it, seeing as I'm staring at the ground with a blank face.

"Could you follow me for a minute?' She asks, looking down at the ground.

"Why?" I ask, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Because you need to." She snaps impatiently, grabbing me and dragging me out the tent.

I don't have a problem with her dragging me, that is, not until she drags me into Indy's tent. With the strength of a full grown man, she shoves me in, ignoring my cries of defiance.

I trip into his tent, blushing furiously when I knock into him, my chin smacking into his shoulder blade. I turn to go back out but Carrie is standing in the doorway, with the look of a freaking assassin written across her face.

"Sit." She growls, gesturing to two chairs sitting back to back in the middle of the tent. I eye them speculatively but sit with huffy breath, knowing its not good to argue with a blonde with the stubborn will of a Roman Empire.

Indy sits on the chair opposite of me, and though I can't see his face, I can tell by his silence that he's not in on this plan, nor is he pleased with it.

"Now," Carrie begins, sitting on her own stool that faces both of us, crossing her legs with the attitude of a shrink, "We are here to work out some of your emotional issues. And since the two are too pig-headed to figure this out for yourselves, I'll have to help you. My name is Dr. Smithers, and I'll be counseling you until this friendship is repaired."

I glance at her, trying to put very much venom into the look, but she just smiles patiently.

"Mr. Jones, would you care to start first? State all your problems and why you don't seem to get along with Miss Ravenwood at this particular moment in time."

"You're crazy, Carrie. Let us out of the tent, please." Indy mutters, standing up.

As quick as a whip, Carrie stands up and pushes him back down. "That's Dr. Smithers to you, Mr. Jones. And you don't have a choice, you have to cooperate."

Indy grumbles something that neither Carrie nor I hear, but I'm sure it's not very nice.

With a roll of her blue eyes, Carrie warns, "We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way Mr. Jones. Either way, we will discuss this."

He's quiet for a minute, probably staring at the floor, but when he speaks, the speed of his angry words sends my mind spiraling.

"She's just...so surprising. I never know how she'll handle a situation, and when she does, she always does it in the most immature and childish manner. I know she means well, but she's just a child and she doesn't know how I feel or view anything; she just assumes."

My temper flares up at the words 'just a child' and I turn on him, eyes flashing. "I'm not a child. If I was a child, you wouldn't be friends with me, you wouldn't bother to talk to me. Don't give me that bullshit, Indy. You're the one who goes around shagging women like they're lollipops in a candy-store. If I'm a child, then you're a baby."

Indy puts his head in his hands, rubbing his temples and mumbles, "Don't start this, Marion. Don't you dare shove this on me."

"Why not?" I yell, standing up, forgetting Carrie--ahem, Dr. Smithers-- is even in the room. "You seem declined to talk about it otherwise. Doesn't our friendship mean anything to you, or is it all just a pity act?"

"Of course not!" Indy shoots incredulously, blinking wildly, "How could you think that of me? I--..." He trails off, as if choosing the right words to say, "You're one of my closest friends. Like a little sister to me. You should know by now that I care about you more than any girl I kiss, and only because of that do I get mad when you overreact to things I do."

His words shut me up, even though I know they are already true and known to me. But to hear him say he cares about me more than any other girl makes my heart swell with a strange combination of pride and relief.

"I-Indy." I start, walking forward to him. "I only overreact because you're one of my best friends. Hell, you're my only friend that's a guy." I let out a shaky laugh, feeling the storm settling. "Can you forgive me for being a bitch?"

He studies for a minute and I feel almost afraid under his glance. I clench my fists and bite my lip, wincing at the possibility that he might not forgive me at all.

He walks forward, reaching for me. I'm in his arms, burying my face in his shirt as his arms cover me, giving me the true sense of forgiveness that I'd been waiting for. I sigh heavily, knowing that no fight is worth missing this, having his arms encircle me and his cheek pressed to the side of my head. Even if it is just a friendly gesture-- and mind you, that's all it is.

I release him, almost reluctantly, and gasp when I remember Carrie standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed as a smirk shows on her pale face.

"Well, that conference went rather well, don't you think?" She asked, before walking out of the tent.

Indy and I stare after her, and then he looks down at me with a cautious grin.

"Hey Marion?"

"Yeah?' I ask, hugging him again.

Our eyes meet and he grimaces, "Don't take this to offense, but your best friend is insane."

I laugh loudly, shaking my head, "Trust me, I know."

But as odd as it is, Carrie's insanity just saved my friendship with one very good-looking Archaeologist.

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	73. Butterflies

It all started this morning.

All he did was look at me, just simply glance my way with a small smile and I nearly lost it.

A light fluttering started at the pit of my stomach. I ignored it at first, thinking my stomach was growling. Yet it continued, bubbling like a carbonated drink as Indy turned and smiled at me again.

It was like I was filled with bouncing balls and suffering from cardiac arrest because of it. Indy said something to me, and I couldn't even register what it was, my heart was spluttering frantically and swelling like a balloon.

Let me just point out that this happened in the course of a few seconds.

And its been happening all day since then.

Its hard enough to act mostly normal around Indy without the heart spasms and a watchful best friend, but now I've got both the latter and the former to stress me out and I think I might just die from the pressure.

NOT. GOOD.

Carrie is leaving at around four in the morning tomorrow, so we have decided to stay up all night tonight. We were planning to go exploring some more in the tomb, but because of an incident yesterday, featuring me and Carrie screaming hysterically as we found a baby's corpse, we're forbidden to go in ever again, including when Carrie is gone.

We're at the moment sitting by the campfire, and I'm watching Indy telling a story.

And for the record, I AM still head storyteller.

Not that that matters at this particualr moment. I'm in the midst of trying to pretend that nothing is wrong with me for the sake of my best friend's sanity, when in truth, everything is wrong with me.

"Marion?" She asks, waving her hand in front of my face.

"What?" I ask, turning away from the fire.

She smiles at me, giving the I-so-know-the-truth look.

"What?" I ask again, totally and utterly confused.

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. "Nothing."

I glance back over to Indy as he finishes the story and applaud him when its over, choosing to respond with a playful glare as he winks at me. The gesture sends another platoon of butterflies rushing through my previously tired body, fueling me with adrenaline. This makes me sit up just a little straighter and my eyes open a little wider. The small changers in my demeanor do not slide under the radar of Carrie Smithers, who eyes me with a curious expression.

"Are you okay?" She questions.

"Sure. Why?"

"You just...brightened up." She explained, waving her hand at me. "Twenty seconds ago you looked dead beat tired and now...you're wide awake.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I say airily, smiling as Jones walks over to sit next to me.

Yet I have a feeling that Carrie knows EXACTLY what she's talking about, especially as I begin to blush lightly when Indy simply asks if I liked his story.

* * *

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	74. Pros & Cons

Carrie is packing, and I'm helping her.

Okay, so maybe I'm taking her knickers and hiding them so it wastes time, but either way I'm still helping her.

"Marion, give me my bloomers or I swear I'll.." She breaks off into a string of cuss words that even make ME wince.

With a sigh, I toss them to her, averting my eyes and looking at the ground.

"What's wrong?" She asks. "You've been acting all weird since this morning."

I shake my head defiantly, biting my lip. Carrie throws the underwear in her suitcase.

"You know," she begins, folding a random shirt into fourths, "All your problems can be solved if you simply talk to me, Marion."

With a forlorn groan, I throw my head in my hands, leaning forward on my knees as I sit on my cot.

She continues to talk, probably not caring if I listen or not. "I am, after all, your best friend since we were little. And you won't see me for a long time, depending on when you come back to the States."

I sneak a glance at her, and she's giving me a half-hopeful, half-worried expression.

"Just tell me one thing, name the thing that's bothering you. That's all I want to hear."

I sink back on the bed with grumble, closing my eyes. After a moment of pondering, I mutter, "Indiana Jones is my problem."

Even though I know Carrie is aware of this already, her reaction is still very energetic. She jumps up, muffling her squeals with a fist in her mouth.

"Why are you excited about this? This is horrible." I say, bewildered at her excitement.

"No, Marion. This is GOOD. Now, why is he the center of your problems?" She asks, packing some more clothes.

"Because I don't know what to think of him. I don't know if he's good for me or not."

"Why do you need to know?"

I pause, not wanting to make my answer seem to eager or--dare I say it--lovelorn.

"Because if we're going to be friends, then it will need to be a clear friendship, no murky things that confuse and blur it."

"You mean you need to know the good reasons to be with him and the bad reasons to not?" She zips her suitcase.

"Yeah. I guess you could put it that way."

Blue eyes alight, she pulls out pen and a paper, drawing a straight line down the middle. "Now," She begins, gesturing me over to the desk she sits at, "Every time you think of something positive about Jones, I'll put a tally mark on this side," she pointed to the right side of the paper, "And every time you think of something negative, I'll put a tally mark on the other side." She indicated the left side.

I scan the plan of hers, trying to see through any facades made to make me say things that I shouldn't say, but can't find any.

"Okay." I agree, pulling a chair over to her and sitting.

"And...go."

I decided to start with something positive, seeing as we were best friends.

"He can be courteous."

She marked a little notch on the right side.

"But he can be extremely invading of personal space, putting me in compromising positions at the worst times."

She tallied the left side, rolling her eyes.

"His sense of humor can be coarse, sometimes cruel." I say, twisting the truth only slightly; despite the blatant honesty of his humor, I like it.

I thought some more, twirling a strand of hair on my finger.

"He is a know it all, thinking that just because he's an archaeologist he can tell anyone whats good for them."

I glanced at the sheet and decided to balance the sides out more evenly, seeing as their were three cons and one pro to Indiana Jones.

"He's er...classically handsome." I murmured, much to Carrie's muted enthusiasm.

"He IS smart; he helped me pass History class after all."

"He's got a great sense of humor." I add, staring off at something that not even I can see.

"He's really strong, yet gently so."

"He's patient, he knows when I need to be talked to, and when I just want to stay quiet."

I find myself going over every quality in him, thinking about them all with a nostalgic smile, as if I'm looking back on a childhood memory.

"He's got this look, this stare that he reserves for me only when I do something that surprises him. It's this intense, bare, raw stare that makes me feel naked in so many ways."

"He knows what its like to lose a mother and have a father that doesn't care. I can relate to him."

Carrie suddenly clears her throat, and I glance down at the list, mortified to find the pros way ahead of the cons. With a gasp, I scramble to think of something negative.

"He infuriates me, though. He never seems to get truly mad, even when I try really hard to get him there."

"I hate the way he says my name. Like its some special piece of glass that he doesn't want to break."

I stopped, unable to think of anything else about him that absolutely peeved me. But I had to think of something, because if the pros outweighed the cons, that would mean that I...

Stop it, Marion. Don't even think about saying that.

"Anything else you want to add?" Carrie asks, raising a single eyebrow at me.

"N-no." I answer quietly, sinking down on the floor.

"So you know what this means, don't you?" Carrie questions, putting away the paper and pen in my drawer.

"No." I grunt.

She bends down, clasping my hands with hers.

"You love him."

Though I knew those would be her exact words, I'm still startled as she says them.

"Don't you dare deny it, Marion Elena Ravenwood."

Ouch, the middle name threat.

I look up, and then lunge at her, wrapping my arms around her. My face is moist. Am I crying?

"It's okay." She whispers, patting the back of my head and rocking me back and forth.

I hear this odd choking noise, and then realize its me. I'm sobbing.

How pathetic.

I sit there for a few more minutes, just gripping Carrie with all the strength I can.

"Carrie, we've got to head out to the airport. Come now!" Abner calls from outside the tent.

With a sad smile, Carrie stands, ignoring my apologies for her tear stained shirt.

She grabs her suitcase and then looks at me. I'm not sure what she's trying to find in my puffy, wet face, but she obviously locates it, giving a big I'm-so-up-to-something grin that I know I'm going to miss.

With one last warm hug, Carrie Smithers walks out of my tent, with one last muttered means of farewell.

"Well, I guess my work here is done."

* * *

**But is Carrie's work done? Will Marion ever really admit to her love for Dr. Jones? Will he reciprocate it? Tune in next time for the phenomenal experience that is, 'Thoughts of Crazed Archaeologist's Daughter!'**

**Sorry, I had to do the over dramatic newscaster for a while.**

**Okay a few notes,**

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	75. Nightmares

**Okay, I know I don't leave authors notes before the chapters usually, but this is important. Many of you are happy because Marion knows her feelings. While this is true in essence, she is far from admitting them to anyone, let alone herself. It will, once again, take a while. Alright, now that that's cleared...on with the chapter!

* * *

**

_I'm sure I'm dreaming._

_Except I don't even remember falling asleep in the first place..._

_Damn._

_I'm standing on an open mountain, overlooking the camp. It's like any ordinary night, but the camp is completely silent; no campfire shining in the blackness, no cheers and shouts coming from the men I've gotten to know so well these past two months._

_"Marion?"_

_I turn around, though my body just glides to follow the action. Indy is standing there, looking pained and almost upset._

_I open my mouth to ask what's going on, but the words are unable to form._

_His face is frantic now, his arms are reaching for me._

_"RUN!" He yells._

_I run, but it's more like floating. I'm flying past all types of landscape. I don't know why, but I'm absolutely terrified._

_Suddenly, I can't even run anymore. My body just freezes up, and I'm standing in a familiar room. Like a distant memory, I try to recall where I've seen this place before._

_There's a woman lying on a bed in front of me, hands clasped on her stomach. I try to get closer to her, feeling an odd sense of attachment to this stranger, whoever she is._

_Suddenly, her closed eyelids fly open, fixing me with a stare that's both calm and cautious. Her eyes are the exact same color and shape as my own..._

_"Mom?" Despite me inability to speak earlier, I manage to rasp the question._

_And then she is gone, Abner standing next to me with an arm on my shoulder._

_"You look so much like your mother, Marion."_

_I look over at my father, gasping in horror as he morphs into another being; a man in a turban and an eye patch._

_The man reaches for my throat, cutting off my scream. I swing around and punch him._

"OW! Dammit, Marion, watch where you're swinging that thing!"

_Did Patches just talk to me? I didn't see his lips moving..._

_But wait, who IS Patches?_

_He continues to strangle me, and my breathing is getting shorter. I want to just run._

"Marion! Wake up!"

_My mom is behind the man harassing me, a sad smile written across her features._

"Marion! C'mon, wake up! Wake up!"

_If I could just reach her...if I could just touch her hand. I throw my left arm out, stretching to make contact with her. She reaches out as well, the smile getting a little more confident on her face._

_And then she disappears._

_I scream._

I open my eyes, groping for the man attacking me, and nearly scream again when I see it's just Indy.

I'm silent for a moment, trying to register what just happened and then sit up quickly, searching around my tent.

"Marion? You're alright, you were just--"

"Where's Patches?" I cut him off, leaping up and running over to the flap. "Where's mom?"

I feel his hands on lock down on my wrists, restraining me. He's talking to me, but I tune out to his words.

"I have to tell Abner." I gasp, my chest heaving. "Mom's alive. I have to tell him." I struggle to get out of his grip.

"Marion, what are you talking about?" He asks, bewildered.

"I was running. I saw mom. And then a man was choking me. And she was right there, just out of my reach..." The words tumbled out of my mouth, forming no coherent train of thought.

"MARION!" He grabs my shoulders, shaking me until my teeth clatter together.

I look up at him, my eyes widening. He looks worried, more uncomfortable than I've ever seen him. I shut my mouth, looking up at him expectantly.

"Marion," He begins again, "You were having a nightmare. Your mother is dead."

I blink and shake my head, like a child denying that he stole the cookie from the cookie jar.

"No, no. Indy, I SAW her. She was ALIVE. You're lying."

"Marion, your mom is dead. You were dreaming." He points out, still keeping a firm grip on my shoulders.

"NO!" I shout fiercely, glaring up at him.

Why didn't he believe me?

I feel like hitting him, but when I cock my fist, he winces and I spot a purple mark already sporting on his right cheek.

"You already hit me, Marion." He says, gesturing at his face. "But go ahead and slug me again if it makes you feel better."

I stop, the confusion ebbing away as I realize that I AM AWAKE. That I WAS DREAMING.

I let my arm fall limply to my side. My lip trembles.

"She's dead?" I hear the words, but am unaware they come from me.

He nods, and that's all I need to cue the tears. I don't even know what kind of tears the are, angry, sad, or embarasssed.

"I heard you talking and came in to see if you were actually awake." He explains as I stare blankly at him, furiously trying to blink the tears back. "You were thrashing around and calling my name."

I blush, but my red cheeks go unnoticed in the dark.

"And when I tried to wake you, you punched me." He finishes, shaking his head with a wry smile. "Even in sleep you're still a scrapper."

After watching me for a long moment as I pathetically sniffle and choke back a sob, he brings me close to him and I bury my face in his shirt.

I breathe in, trying to immerse myself in his scent and clear my muddled head at the same time. He smells like-- as weird as it may seem--chocolate cake and a piny tint that screams wilderness. There's something else that lingers there, something completely and uniquely his own, both musky and sharp.

We stand like that for a long time.

"Are you okay?" He murmurs, lips at my ear.

The gesture sends a rather familiar rush of adrenaline through my body, washing away most of my useless misery.

"As okay as I'll ever be." I manage to whisper, voice breaking.

He rests his chin on my head, sighing. "What am I going to do with you, Miss Ravenwood?"

I know it's a rhetorical question, but I can't resist answering.

"I'm just a naturally hazardous person. Nothing and no one is safe from me."

Giving a light chuckle, he reaches down and lifts me up, setting me back down on the cot. I sneeze, sniffling tearfully once it's through.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He asks, crouching down beside the bed.

I nod weakly, doing my best to conjure up a buy-able smile.

He stands to go and a wave of panic covers me, smothering my previously calm thoughts.

"No," I plead, sitting up and snatching his hand, "Don't leave me. Please."

I feel pitiful begging him, and selfish for even asking. It's probably too late to even be awake.

With another long look of worry, he sits down next to me.

"I'll stay till you fall asleep."

I sniffle as a means of thanks.

With a small smile, he leans forward and brushes my hair out of my eyes, studying my face as he does so.

"I'm sorry for crying and being a baby in front of you." I apologize earnestly, trying to tear my gaze from his and failing terribly.

He just continues to study me, fingers lightly tracing my brow as he continues to brush my bangs out of my face.

I'm about to ask what time it is, but my mind drifts before I can comprehend my own thoughts.

His hazel eyes stay fixed in the back of my head the rest of the night because I fall asleep staring into them.

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**Wow, another shot over the 1,000 word limit, you guys are so lucky I'm on a roll with this story!**

**Would it be too much to ask for a review??**

**And for you guys to check for typos?**

**Pretty please?**


	76. Epiphany

A week has passed.

My nightmares have continued occurring, though I have not woke up screaming like the first night. But still, the extent of their damage is written on my face as I blink tiredly, my face nearly falling into my oatmeal.

"Tired much?" Indy teases, sitting across from me at the breakfast table.

"You have no idea." I grumble, fumbling for my spoon.

My porridge tastes nothing short of bullshit.

"Indy, pass the sugar." I command, not caring how bitchy I sound. I never am a morning person, especially when my dreams consist of being stalked by a man with an eye patch and a passion for strangling me.

"Here you go." He says with a small smile, passing the cup of glucose.

His fingers lightly brush mine as he hands me the cup.

What feels like an electric shock jolts through me, numbing my senses and sending me into a temporary coma.

Of course, knowing my klutziness, that's not all that happens.

I drop the cup and it shatters loudly, causing every worker to look over at me.

But I could care less about everyone else.

I only have eyes for Indiana Jones.

I probably look completely stupid, sitting there, frozen in place.

And as strange as it seems, he's staring back at me, frozen as well.

Everything I have ever been attracted to about Jones seems intensified. The slope of his broad shoulders, the crease in his forehead, the burst of color around his irises that all but hypnotizes me, and most of all, his lips. A sudden wave rushes over me, making me want to pull those lips to mine. I vaguely wonder what it might feel like, kissing him.

Abner addresses me, breaking both the never ending silence and my coma. "Marion, you clumsy child, clean the mess up, please!"

I can't even think up a saucy comment to reply with. I just nod dumbly and begin to pick up the pieces of the shattered cup as fast as possible without cutting myself. Indy looks like he wants to say something, but I don't give him a chance to. I know that if he so much as looks at me that I'll lose what little control I'm struggling to retain.

I walk calmly into my tent, promptly making sure I'm not being followed. I then proceed to run to my cot, shove my face into my pillow and scream. Scream until my throat is nearly inside out.

When I've purged myself of all psychotic emotions, I sit up, gripping myself in exasperation.

My head is ringing with the same words over and over again. Carrie was right, and I've been being a defiant little chit all this time.

It's finally happened, after these long months filled with yelling, punching, drinking, attempts at suicide, hangovers, getting soaked in the rain and cleaning sud filled kitchens, the inevitable and mortifying truth has happened.

I am in love with Indiana Jones.

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**Well, now we're finally getting somewhere, eh Marion? I expect reviews as always and for you to look for any typos or grammar errors. Please. **


	77. Truly Losing It

It's official.

I've lost it.

I'm insane.

Psychotic.

Crazy.

Mentally unstable.

I should be put into a mental institute, no, an ASYLUM, because I am so nuts.

And the worst part about me logic it is that all this pandemonium is centered around one person and one person only.

I can't even say his name, because it sends my heart into such a frenzy that I can barely keep in mind how to breathe.

Don't get me wrong, I HAVE tried to stop the madness. I've tried keeping myself busy so I can't spend time with him. I've tried hitting myself on the head with a shovel. (Which ended very badly, mind you. Indy was the one who saw me collapse and woke me up by simply touching my face, a gesture that nearly gave me a heart attack.) Hell, I even read my tattered copy of Pride & Prejudice (Which I actually liked in the end, but found horrifying because I could relate so much to Elizabeth Bennett). I just can't get HIM off my mind.

He's simply...everywhere.

That's all there is to it.

Loving him is like staring at the sun; I know it's eventually going to blind me to the point where my eyes fry and fall out of my loopy head, but I just can't resist looking at it.

Somehow, in the past week or so, I've managed to keep up a pretty kick ass facade. I doubt anyone can tell that I'm completely head over heels for this idiot.

We're still close friends, despite the fact that one of us has gone off their rocker completely. We still hug each other every chance we get. We still shout at each other when feelings need to be released. And we still have those minute long sessions of light hearted banter, just to spite ourselves. By the end of the day, I have to clench my fists to and bite my lip to keep from kissing him. I'm not exactly sure how long I can do this; lie through my teeth and act like an innocent seventeen year old girl with not a care in the world.

I feel silly, wishing and hoping he can someday feel the way I do. But you tell me, what chance do I have against all the big-breasted bimbos out there, honestly?

I guess I could continue to live like this, if I give it all my strength. I'm aware that one day I'll probably crack, completly flying off the handle and spilling every secret out. Heaven help the person that sees that.

Ugh.

I'm down in the tomb, resting against one of the ancient stone pillars on my five minute break. My eyes are closed and I lean my head back against the marble, breathing in the musty air that could only hang around places where dead people are.

I hear his voice, barely a whisper across the room as he asks Oxley for a compass.

My eyes snap open, instinctively traveling over to where he's standing, bent over a map.

I watch him silently, drinking in every detail of him, narrowing my eyes jealously at the tattered fedora atop his head. His lips are set in a grim smile of concentration as he traces over the table, hazel eyes flickering back and forth like candle flame. His sleeves are rolled up slightly past the elbow, a fashion that only makes his lower arms look MORE toned and attractive than they already are.

I know he can tell he's being watched, but I can't take my gaze off him as he scans the room, looking for the culprit.

A smile spreads across his face as he sees me.

Caught in the act.

He tips his head oh-so-slightly to the right, asking me a question without the use of words.

I don't need a translation.

_What are you doing?_

I shrug, rolling my eyes.

_Sitting on my ass and wishing I had your hat._

He replies with a wink and a small adjusting of his fedora.

_If you want it, come and get it._

I stick my tongue out.

_Screw you._

He laughs lightly, stretching his hand before picking up the compass again.

With a quiet groan, I stand up and go back to digging.

I find that despite my being insane, the feeling of his smile and laughter makes it all worthwhile.

* * *

**Okay, IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT SO PLEASE READ THIS AUTHORS NOTE!!**

**I'm going out of town and I'll be gone till the 11th of August and while I could update a few more times, it would leave the story in a horrible cliffhanger and you would probably all stab me and burn me alive. So I'm going to update once more tomorrow and that will be all until the 11th.**

**Second, as you may know, I will be writing another story, the result of the poll I had a few weeks ago. I suggest that if you want to be notified when I start it that you should add me to your Author Alert list. Please, it will save me the trouble of personally notifying everyone. **

**Oh, and lastly, review and look for any errors of any sort. **

**Love you all!**


	78. Scheming

**I wasn't originally going to have this in here, thinking it unnecessary and rash, but I changed my mind, because of me having to leave I thought I would give you something anticipating. Read on, please.**

* * *

I'm lying on my cot and staring up at the ceiling of my tent. It's really quiet outside, barely two AM in the morning, but I can only hear screaming in my head.

Screaming of my conscience.

I find it rather amusing--in a dark kind of way-- that my conscience has recently taken the form of a five inch Carrie Smithers, who sits on my left shoulder and screams when I don't take actions.

"You're being too impractical about the situation." She says, dusting her tiny body off. "Use your resources to your advantage."

"So, build him a sand castle?" I ask back with my head voice, which is seemingly loud.

"You want him, don't you?" She asks, sitting on my shoulder cross-legged.

"Of course." I snap back. "But how do I know HE wants ME?"

"Marion, what is it that men usually notice first about a woman they are interested in?" She asks softly, looking up at me with angelic blue eyes.

"Usually how good looking the woman is." I answer slowly, trying to find out what the hell my conscience/best friend is hinting at.

"So the only way to find if Indiana Jones is attracted to you is to..." She trailed off, giving me a meaningful look.

The realization hits me, and I look at my shoulder, horrified.

"You want me to flirt with him? Look and act like a girl?" I ask faintly, feeling the room spin around me.

"Before you lose your cool, just think about it." She warns, putting her arms up in defense. "If he responds, then it'll be worth it!"

"And if he doesn't, I will humiliate myself for nothing." I finish, pouting defiantly.

"Just try it." She pleas, rocking her tiny hands back and forth as a means of begging.

"Last time I let you con me into something, Indy nearly suffocated me in an alley." I point out, far from falling for her peevish ways.

"All you have to do is walk by him and smile. That's all." Carrie reassures me.

But I don't feel very reassured at all.

"Look, Marion, you love him, don't you?"

I bite my lip. "Yes."

"And you think it MIGHT be convenient if he loved you back?"

"I suppose..."

"Then do it. You've got nothing to lose."

"Except my dignity. And my stomach."

She laughs, a light tinkling that makes me wish for the real Carrie. "Honey, I AM your dignity."

"You're an invisible person on my shoulder. I have no dignity now that I'm THIS crazy."

She laughs.

I lay down and hear Carrie's voice echoing in my head. "Think of it as an experiment. A series of trials."

I close my eyes, trying to push out the thought of what lies ahead tomorrow.

A flirty, girly Marion Ravenwood.

That, my friend is a scary thought indeed.

* * *

**Hopefully, that wasn't much of a cliffy for you, but I'll know for sure if you all massacre me. I don't mind if you do, but you'll have to wait till the 11th to get another short.**

**Review as always, look for typos, grammar crap, and if you have not, add me to your Author Alert List so you will know when the next continuation (result of old poll) is published. **

**Thanks loves, I'm forever grateful for your patience!**


	79. Experiment

**Yes, I'm back, can you believe it? Now, before you all start killing me, I would like to explain the reason my updates might be fewer these days. I just started high school today, a freshman, and I'm already suffering from stress attacks, so please give me some time to balance. I have a lot written on this story, it's just a matter of finding the time to post it that makes this a problem. Please bear with me.**

* * *

I feel nervous, mortified, even, as I step out of my tent this morning.

This isn't just any ordinary day. I'm about to test out my hypothesis; I'm about to discover the truth.

Today, my mission is to find out one thing:

Is Indiana Jones even remotely attracted to me?

I COULD make this situation easy. I COULD just walk up to Jones and ask him, but my conscience, Carrie, refuses to let me go about this the easy way. No, I had to get ready for an hour and take flirting lessons from an invisible best friend on my shoulder.

"Remember," Carrie coached me as I brushed out my hair earlier, "Smile and say something wise. Guys love it when girls have them tongue tied."

The problem at this particular moment in time seems to be that MY OWN tongue is tied. I have never been good at this, this smooth talking, totally blase flirting. Nevertheless, I have taken Carrie's imagined advice and gone all out. My hair is down, oddly and gently wavy as opposed to it's usual puffiness. I put on my modernized woman's slacks, the ones that hug my normally missing hips. After five minutes of arguing with myself, I slipped on a short sleeved button up blouse, which hugs my torso and makes me look not-so-flat-chested. And just for extra effect, I undid the top two buttons of the blouse, revealing cleavage that can't possibly be mine. I also put on these high heeled boots that I've never worn before. Probably some long lost gift from Abner.

So, all in all, I look presentable and girly. I don't FEEL like that, but it's enough. I hope.

I'm trying to walk a straight line without tripping over my own feet, and I guess it's going smoothly. I take small, light steps forward, keeping my eyes trained ahead of me. It's with smug satisfaction that I realize many heads turning as I pass. I feel like laughing out loud at this far fetched behavior from the workers, who suddenly seemed to have realized I'm a female, yet I simply give a tiny smile.

The dig is focused today in areas around the entrance to the tomb, and everyone is digging trenches. I scan the heads peeking out of the trenches, my breath hitching when I spot a familiar, tattered brown hat. I remind myself to keep my pacing even, but it doesn't stop the frothing of the butterflies in my belly.

I keep my eyes fixed on Abner and Oxley, who are at the end of the trenches, as I try to ignore the fact that everyone's eyes are fixed on ME.

I walk by HIS trench, clicking my heels sharply on the ground so he hears me. I feel the familiar pair of burning hazel eyes on me as I pass him.

With a small intake of breath, I walk up to Abner and Ox, both who are staring at me as if I'm a stranger.

"Abner," I say, trying to make my voice sound sure and firm, "I'm going down to Cairo to pick up some groceries. Do you need me to get anything else?"

Abner shakes his balding head, sharing a bewildered glance with Oxley.

"Okay." I beam, pivoting away. "See you later."

I can hear the low whistles as the workers smile at me. Knowing it's all in good humor, I whistle back, much to the laughter and enjoyment of them all.

My sight is now set on a new target; much more attractive than Abner and Oxley put together. I decided to try something Carrie did not teach me, swaying my hips just a fraction of an inch as I saunter over to him. The move does not go unnoticed.

He's watching me, his explosion-of-hypnotic-color eyes widened in surprise and stupefication. My smirk is more apparent than ever as I stand over him, me on level ground and him in a four foot trench. I feel an odd warmth spread throughout me as his gaze lingers on every single inch of me.

Indy's mouth is hanging open, I note with more satisfaction. I bend down, so we are face to face, me smirking and him staring still.

"What's the matter?" I ask, smiling wider than ever. "Cat got your tongue?"

When he doesn't respond, I do the only thing that seems sensible and flirtatious at the same time.

I reach out and sweep his Fedora off his head. He blinks, looking confused by my actions. With what I hope is a seductive wink, I settle the hat on my head.

He catches on, and with a knowing grin, he puts his hands up in surrender, "Alright. You win. You've earned the Fedora. But you'll have to give it back sometimes, you know.

I stand fully erect, letting out a small giggle.

"You have yourself a nice day, Dr. Jones." I nod, winking once more.

His eyes follow me as I drive away from the camp, and I smile as I conclude the experiment, deeming it a success. Victory wells up inside me; wining the Fedora is no small feat. Carrie the conscience is screaming happily at me, telling me she knew I could do it. Somehow, I knew I could do it as well. I beam again, plenty excited by the outcome of my day.

But its not until I'm speeding through the desert that I finally open the windows and let out my exultant scream.

* * *

**Ha, there's a nice over 1000 word short for you all. **

**Now, please review and look for typos. **

**If you need information about my reasons for procrastinating, I constantly update my author profile page, so check it once every couple days or so and it should save you a lot of stress. **


	80. Staring

**Holy crap you guys, 600 reviews and still going? YOU GUYS KICK FREAKING ASS!!**

**Okay, sorry for the explosion, on with the reading...**

* * *

"Why do you keep doing that?" The words tumble out of my mouth before I get the will to stop them.

Indy's smile grows more apparent on his face. "Doing what?" He asks innocently.

It's about four in the afternoon, and I'm sitting under the tree above the tomb. Abner stuck me out here because I'm forbidden from the tomb, and then had Indy come out here to watch me.

But watching me is seeming to be very enjoyable for him.

I'm curled up on a chair, trying to engross myself in Mr. Darcy's proposal to Elizabeth while stupid Indiana Jones is STARING AT ME.

The same intense, blatant, observant stare that I can only catch him giving me. But now, he's not looking away, making me feel so uncomfortable I want to run away from him.

I scoff. "Staring at me, you idiot. Don't do it."

He leans forward in the chair, folding his arms with a self-satisfied smirk. "Does it bother you?"

No Jones, it simply turns me to a melted puddle of water.

"Yes." I answer curtly.

I dare to move my eyes to his, fervent hazel to hesitantly curious green. I almost flinch with the openness of his gaze. We're five feet apart, but we might as well be five centimeters so.

I refuse to give in, I hold my stare, raising my eyebrows oh-so-slightly as to make me seem cocky, confident.

The contest probably lasts hours, days, eons. I don't notice though, swimming in my favorite multi-colored pool. I'm afraid to blink, terrified to break that single physical connection that we seemed to have formed at the moment.

I memorize his face, every crevice and valley. Every hint of five 'o clock shadow. Every eyelash on his lids. It still isn't enough. If I could just move forward...bridge that awful gap between us. If I could just memorize his lips, how they look...feel...TASTE.

This is insane. With what seems tremendous will power, I wrench my gaze from his, breaking the contact and ending the staring contest. He laughs.

I turn back to my beloved Pride & Prejudice with a glare, not in a particularly happy mood. I once again immerse myself in Mr. Darcy's love confession, trying to find an excuse for the rapid spluttering of my heart.

After two more pages, I feel it again, that familiar stare on my face, my hair, my...everywhere. I try to resist reacting, but it's too much. I'm a wimp.

With as much swiftness as possible, I stand and walk to my tent, tucking my novel under my arm.

When I get to my tent, I toss my book down and take a few deep breaths. If I don't gain control, I know I won't be able to have control of anything; my thoughts, my wishes, my actions.

And yet, as I lay back on my cot and focus on an empty space in nowhere-land, I figure it is so worth it. Practically losing my small bit of control was SO WORTH having his eyes on me. I don't care HOW he was looking at me, whether he was thinking of me as a friend or an annoying little girl, his stare is the one thing that can throw me to pieces and put me back together again.

Damn you and your beautiful stare, Indy.

* * *

**A useless short for fun. I'm going to try and update one more time this weekend but I can't be sure. Check my profile for information on my writing schedule and reason of procrastinations. It's updated every day or so.**

**Review and look for typos please!**


	81. Closet

**For an explanation of everything, including my suckishness, go to the bottom of this page.**

* * *

It's a cool afternoon and I'm bored, I decide to go looking for adventure. You know, just to be stupid and get myself into more trouble than usual.

Making sure no one is watching, I slip down the ladder into the tomb. I land as silently as a cat, stumbling just a little. I smile at the familiar and EXHILARATING smell of dirt and dead people.

Straightening, I look around, awed by the purple haze the sinking sun leaves on the walls of the catacombs. There's no one else down here, work session ended about an hour ago. Quietly and calmly, I walk around, trying to imagine what the ancient petro-glyphs could possibly mean. I run my fingers along the cryptic lines, tracing patterns.

"Marion?"

The familiar clenching of my heart, heightened breathing and feverish blush return in one fell swoop as I whip around and see Indy, standing right behind me. He's staring (of course) suspiciously at me. I wave with a guilty wince.

"Hi."

A smile, he's obviously finding the situation amusing. "What are you doing? You're not allowed down here anymore."

I nod. "Yes, that much is true. But I'm just looking for adventure."

"Could you look for adventure in a less dangerous place, maybe?" He asks softly, walking towards me with that same blinding smile.

I shake my head. "What's so dangerous about this place?" I ask back, twirling around in a circle, and then tripping and falling on my ass. Nice, Ravenwood.

He laughs, helping me up. "Your being here is already making this place dangerous enough."

I roll my eyes.

Suddenly, Indy freezes, eyes flickering towards the ladder as the voices of Oxley and Abner drift closer.

"We have to get out of here!" I stage whisper, running towards the sole exit.

"NO!" Indy grabs my arm. "They'll notice us going out. We have to hide somewhere in here."

We glance around frantically, and then simultaneously, our eyes fall upon a cupboard at the southern end of the tomb. Probably filled with shovels, but the thought doesn't occur to me as I dash towards it, dragging Jones after me. I throw open the door and Indy bolts it behind me.

My guess is right; the closet is full of shovels, as well as some buckets of a smelly substance used for cleaning fossils. Not ideal in any way, but decent for now.

We stand in the dim light of the cupboard, trying to gasp for needed air as quietly as possible. The voices of my father and Oxley are now on our level of ground, drifting as they circle the tomb and discuss where they're going to dig next.

In the silence that I dread and fear so much, I watch Indy's dark-looking features with growing interest. I also notice with a start that we are pressed up against each other in the small space that the closet has given us; confined, two feet in width and length at the most. I conclude that in an act of getting away from the bolted door, Indy placed either of his hands on the sides of my head, braced against the cupboard walls. He's too close, not touching me at all, yet too fracking close. I thank my lucky stars for that mere inch of precious space between us.

The voices of the old and young archaeologists fade as they climb the ladder and exit the tomb. After a sigh of laughter and a confirmation that they are gone, Jones and I burst into laughter. It's the contagious kind again, the kind we shared when we got 

soap all over one another in the kitchen God-knows-how-many-months-ago. My sides shake and I add this experience with Indy to my list of favorite ones.

My giggles subside and I lean my forehead on his shoulder, burying my face in his shirt. The contact sends an all-too-familiar jolt through me and I snap back, eyes wide.

His hands are still on either side of my head, and with a mixture of monstrous dread and excitement I realize I'm pinned into a corner. We're still both grinning like idiots, still trying to breath enough air, but doing this without touching one another is almost impossible.

We finally catch our breaths, and in an attempt to tell Indy we should get out of this damn closet, I look up at him.

Wrong move, let me tell you.

Indiana is no longer smiling, but nor is he frowning. He's simply looking at me, his hazel irises set on make-Marion-faint-and-swoon mode as they measure and analyze every bit of my face.

My body is suddenly assaulted with every kind of physical giveaway of my love for this jerk. My knees feel week, my heart breaks out at a frightening pace, my breathing becomes unsteady and quicker than ever before, and my stomach is suddenly filled with so many butterflies that it's a wonder I'm not throwing them right up.

"Marion." He says it lightly and gently, like a favorite scarf to wear on a breezy day.

More heart palpitations...oh Lord; I'm going to die of a coronary if he keeps STARING AT ME! Can't he hear it? That huge thumping that is sounding in my ears?

I open my mouth to say something, but with every centimeter that closes between us, I lose more and more train of thought.

I nod, though at what, I don't even have a clue. It's all I can do.

And then, he smiles. Not the big cocky grin like usual, just a small but crooked twist of his lips; wry and pleased.

Before I can say another word, before I can gain my sanity back or even comprehend what the F-ing hell is going on, I'm kissing him.

I can feel my restraint on certain emotions suddenly crumbling. I can feel myself crumbling along with it. I have to get out of here...I can't give in...I can't...do...this...

"Indy." His muttered name is lost as his lips remain pressed to mine.

He simply responds by settling a hand on my waist and caressing it. His touch on the bare skin at my hip (my shirt has ridden up just a little) sends numerous shivers down my spine.

Before I can stop it, right there, right after that small but incredibly sweet gesture of his, the internal rubber band of peace deep inside me snaps.

And I finally begin to kiss him back.

I'm numb, not having expected this at all. I simply follow the chanting voices in my head and launch myself into the kiss, locking my arms around his neck.

Behind my closed lids, it's more or less like watching the explosion of the entire universe. Colors of crazy amounts fly around my head, hitting me like splashes of water, and my ears are now roaring like the hot blood that is rushing up to my face. My pulse rings throughout my body like the beating and pounding of a huge drum. The butterflies that were previously filling me now eat me alive; making every part of me that is touching him crackle with static.

Once I recover from the internal shock, I realize that I'm missing shit loads of things that are going on outside my mind.

Let me just say that it's both worse and better than the catastrophic things that are happening in my head. Indy's lips are chapped slightly, moving against mine in a way that I find surprising; gentle and unrushed. Oddly tentative as well, his arms are now wrapped all the way around the small of my back and waist.

And as mind-blowing and insanely wonderful this all is, it's JUST NOT ENOUGH.

Yeah, you could say I'm a greedy miser in a way.

I pull myself closer, knotting my small fingers in his sienna brown hair, probably making it messier than ever. In this confined space, the feeling of not having enough space is replaced with one of having TOO MUCH of it.

I can tell he's rather smug about all this by the way he grins into my lips at my fierce response.

Arrogant bastard.

But it's far too late. I can't stop myself, I'm beyond reason.

Time is either frozen completely, or passing in such large bouts that mere eons have gone by. It suddenly dawns on me how long we've probably been kissing. As in passionate, crazed, corny-music-in-the-background KISSING.

The realization hits like a club, shattering my blind ardor for the guy I'm kissing and bringing back my old, much loved, pig-headed sense.

With a sudden and angry burst of will, I shove him off me. The stuffy oxygen of the cupboard rushes into my lungs and I vaguely wonder how long I haven't been breathing. Jones looks just as winded as I do, if not more so.

I struggle to find my voice. The majority of me just wants to pull his face back to mine again.

"Marion?"

Oh, God if he says my name like that one more time...

"Need some air." I squeak, avoiding any further contact as I scramble out of the closet.

I nearly sprint out of the tomb, not looking back even as Indy calls my name. I trip to the car, grateful that the keys are already in the ignition.

Without another glance, I drive out of the camp, the engine's roaring similar to the roaring that is still lingering in my head. I roll the windows down and enjoy the feel of the wind whipping my hair around my face with a stinging indifference. I just need to get out of here, clear my head, that's all.

As I try to reassure myself of what I really want, several things start to truly sink in.

A) I just had my first real kiss.

B) I just had my first real kiss with Indiana Jones.

C) I just had my first real kiss with Indiana Jones in a shovel storage closet.

….

Ha, go figure.

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**A/N: Seeing as this is a really big, doubly long and doubly important chapter for this story, I suggest you all review. And I mean EVERYONE. PLEASE? Oh, and let me know of any evil typos that I didn't eradicate.**

**P.S.- for an explanation of my delayed updates, please go to my profile. **


	82. How to Love

"Now dear, take this here tea and drink. Then we can talk."

I raise my head from my knees, taking the cup from Fayah's hands with a sniff.

I'm sitting in Sallah's kitchen, scrunched up in the reclining chair with a throbbing headache. Fayah, Sallah's wife, has had me here for about two hours now, and I'm seriously a mess.

"Thanks." I croak, taking a sip from the mug. The lump in my throat fades away just a little and I feel not so lost.

Fayah sits across from me, watching my every move. I probably look wretched, all red-eyed and disheveled. My tears were short lived, but I'm guessing they left a big impact.

"I'm not going to ask what happened." She informs me, folding her hands in her lap. "Only tell me what you feel should be heard."

I ponder silently, looking over the intricate tiling of the kitchen floor. What should be heard? I ask myself. Am I blowing this whole thing out proportion?

"Have you ever wanted something? Wanted something so bad that you'd do anything to get it?" I'm talking to myself as much as I am to Fayah. "But as soon as you got it, you didn't know what to do with it, or how to handle it? That's how I feel."

The lump in my throat grows again, so I gulp some more tea. "Today I got what I wanted more then life itself. I had him, and--...and we were bloody kissing in a shovel cupboard and I just panicked! It's wrong, it's dangerous and it's only going to hurt me."

I cut off, not realizing the words coming out of my bruised lips. I lightly trace them with my fingertips, remembering the feel of that kiss. The urgency yet complacency of the moment.

My thoughts have been scattered like this for the last two hours, ever since I ran from Indy down in the tomb. I feel like a guilty coward, an idiot, and someone not worthy of sharing that electrifying kiss with Indiana Jones.

It wasn't until I made it to Sallah's house that I had let my emotions run rampant, screaming into a pillow for minutes on end. I shed a few tears, obviously enough to make me look like a depressed loser, and I banged my head on the wall a few times. I think I was simply overwhelmed by everything, the kiss, my reaction, my cowardice, my wants and needs, the humongous amount of stress that I was/am drowning in.

But now, I'm fine.

Okay, so maybe I'm still dying. But I'm getting better at this.

"Do you love him?" The question is soft and kind.

"Down to the last cell in my whole body." I answer with a harsh laugh-- I sound far too cliche for my own good.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

I look up from the floor into Fayah's brown eyes and the lump in my throat grows even bigger.

"I don't know how to love him." I say quietly, personally shamed. "I'm not sure what I want from him or what he wants from me. I don't know how to respond to him or how to treat him. I don't know how to be any good at this." A tear races down my cheek and I feel very stupid.

Fayah lets out a laugh, and I half-wonder if it's directed at me. She continues to smile as she says, "Marion, do you think anyone simply knows how to bake a chocolate cake? Or read a book? Not at first, no. Practice. If you want to love this man, then you have to give it your best and not expect everything to fall into place."

I don't answer, but I am listening intently.

"The thing I know about love," She begins, wiping a dark curl from her eyes, "Is that most humans can do it expertly without even trying. Sure, it takes work, and sure it takes dedication, but you, Marion, will never forgive yourself if you give up on him now."

"But how do I know if I'm doing it the right way?" I ask.

"You'll know because he will return your affection's just as ardently." She explains simply. "I've been married for two years now, and I've never had a day where I want my own life to be any different. Don't deny yourself happiness, Marion, go out and chase it."

My eyes widen as I figure out what I have to do. I jump up, dropping the mug of tea.

"Sorry!" I wail.

"I'll get it dear. You go work your problems out." Fayah says sweetly, waving me away.

With a smile and a thank you, I run out to my car and jump in, throwing it in reverse.

It's time to quit moping, Marion Ravenwood.

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**Please review and find typos, because today I was too lazy to do anything myself. Oh, and do vote on my profile poll. Love you all!**


	83. Confrontation

I'm once again speeding at breakneck pace in the middle of the desert, the dim light of the moon being my only guide along the dusty road.

I am startled to find headlights gleaming at me from ahead. I squint at them.

Coming from the direction of the camp...

With a shout of surprise, I slam the brakes down nearly flying out of my seat when I stop. The other car stops as well, pulling up in front of me.

My brave eagerness and determination is suddenly replaced with terrified hesitancy as he suddenly steps from the car.

We're five feet apart, a safe boundary--one where we won't be drawn to each other like two magnets.

He's glaring at me, light brown hair ruffling in the wind. I'm standing, hands behind my back as I rock back and forth on my heels rather nervously.

"I'm not going to apologize for what happened." I warn him, staring deftly at the ground.

"Neither am I."

The cynical sarcasm is honey thick in his voice and I can't help but flinch.

"You shouldn't do that to me, Indy." I tell him.

"Do what?" The sarcasm is gone, he sounds genuinely concerned.

"Put me into situations where I am NOT in control." I say flatly, anger prickling within me. "Being that close to you..in such a confined space...kissing you.." I blush at this part, "That was not healthy for me."

He raises an eyebrow. "Healthy?"

I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. "I don't think you realize what you do to me when you're around. I. LOSE. IT."

"What are you talking about, sweetheart?" He asks incredulously.

I start to respond but he cuts me off. "I am the one who should have stopped what happened. But, Marion, I just couldn't stop myself. You were there, I was there, and...one thing just led to another."

"You could have stopped me. We both know I couldn't have stopped by myself." I explained to him.

"Like I could do much better." He rolls his eyes. "Marion, I don't think you get it. Every time you so much as MOVE you've got me on my hands and knees."

I blink at him, my heart once again hammering in my chest. How the hell does he do that?! We're not even touching an I'm suffering from cardiac arrest!

"So...if you had control over me and I had control over you, whose to blame?" I somehow feeling that in the end I'll still be the one to blame for this whole incident.

He doesn't answer, the obstinate glare back on is face.

"Why did you do it?' I ask quietly, glancing up at the moon, a pale, expressionless face in the sky.

"I told you Marion, you do it all to me. I go numb when you're around. I'm blind, deaf and mute. I'm gone, but I don't ever remember leaving."

Wow. That was basically the summary of my feelings in a nutshell as well.

"So, where does this leave us then?" He asks after a short silence.

I look over at him fully for the first time, a sly idea coming to my head. With as much non-chalance as possible, I answer. "It leaves the two of us, in the middle of the desert, at night."

He starts to move forward but then stops himself.

"We can't let anyone know about this. It's a secret."

I scoff, stepping closer, "Obviously."

"We have to be discreet. We can't act any closer than friends."

Another step. "I'm a good liar and actress, you don't have to worry."

He stops, grinning down at me. The electric current is up and running between the two of us again, pulling me into those startling eyes. A grin stretches his lips as he cups my cheek.

"Acting and lying, good qualities. But do you happen to be any good at kissing?"

Oh Lord, how much more of this can I TAKE?!

"You tell me." I answer faintly.

With that light, playful and oh-so-sexy chuckle that I love so much, Indiana Jones then proceeds to press his lips to mine.

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**Hey, do me a favor, will you? Leave a review, look for typos and continue to read my story. I adore all those who do. Every day we get closer and closer to my goal of 700 reviews. C'mon, we can do it!**


	84. Hands

It's been two days since the closet incident.

The. Longest. Days. Of. My. Entire. Life.

Indy and I haven't have barely seen each other, and why, might you ask?

Because my bloody father is driving us crazy with jobs to do!

Archaeologists are all mad. Even if you love one that might possibly love you back but your love is forbidden because of an age difference, that archaeologist, and all others for that matter, are all mad.

Our contact simply consists of glances occasionally and lighthearted conversations.

It really does suck.

The afternoon stretches on and I decide to take a break from digging in the tomb. I climb out and walk to the water basin in the center of the camp site. Bending over, I dunk my face and hands only in the basin, shivering as the surprisingly cold water touches my heated face.

Keeping my eyes closed so the water doesn't run into them, I grope for a towel. I feel fabric brush against my outstretched hands and grab it, drying my hands.

I lean forward to press my face into the towel and jump back to find two hands meeting my face instead.

"I'm quite affronted by the fact you think I'm a face towel." He chuckles, looking deep into my eyes.

Before I can say anything witty in reply, or even start to enjoy the touch on my cheeks, his hands are gone. I blink in disappointment.

"You might as well be a face towel." I mutter darkly, not liking the fact that I am no longer having physical contact with this guy. "I haven't seen you in ages. I...I miss you."

With a small but equally heart-breaking smile at my speech, he gathers my clean hands in his.

Okay, I'm happy again.

"Your hands are so small." He laughs, staring down at them with high curiosity.

I think about the difference between my hands and his (coarse and utterly huge) and laugh. "Well, I'm happy to say that yours are far bigger." I tease, glancing from our lone physical connection to his face.

"They're like little rose petals, smooth, but so breakable." He continues to muse, tracing the line of my fingers and wrist.

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't try and find out how breakable they are." I joke, wishing I didn't have to pretend that we were just friends for the public eye.

"Like I could. You'd kick my ass." He points out, much to my satisfaction.

"True." I agree with a nod.

He leans forward, lifting my hand to his lips. A petite, secretive kiss is planted there and for quite a few seconds I feel frozen.

With a meaningful wink, he walks away, disappearing into the tomb.

Once my breathing returns to normal, I sag against the side of the water basin.

I am hopeless.

In love, yet completely and utterly hopeless.

* * *

**Did I ever mention how wonderfully brilliant you all are? WE REACHED THE GOAL OF 700 REVIEWS! HYSTERICAL SCREAMING AND PARTYING FOR HOURS ON END. I'm so honored that I've gotten so many reviews for my first story in this pairing. It really makes me so grateful. You all kick so much ass that you should all star in some of those karate movies. Seriously.**

**Anyways, please keep reviewing. The next couple shots will be like this, fluff. Be happy, because fluff from me is unusually rare. Enjoy it while you can before I kill all the characters off. Just kidding! No, I would never do that.**

**REVIEW AND LOOK FOR TYPOS!**


	85. Messages

Indy and I have developed a secret way of communicating with one another besides our silent mental conversations.

We pass secret messages.

It's all very smart and sneaky, if you look at it our way. We both carry a notebook and pencil in our pockets and as discreet as possible, we slip notes into one our hands as we pass each other.

Today I've got a feeling we'll be using up the entire notebook's worth of paper.

--

**I-**

**Will you quit staring at me? It's driving me crazy. If you keep looking at me like THAT I'm going to come over and kiss the bloody hell out of you.**

**-M**

**--**

_M-_

_I'll quit making eyes at you if you quit pouting every time Abner tells you to stop being immature. Do you know how hard it is for ME to keep from kissing the bloody hell out of YOU every time you make that disappointed face? _

_-I_

_--_

**I-**

**I'd like to point out that there is nothing cute or attractive about my pouting at all, Mr. Jones. But I'm flattered nonetheless. Do you know that it's been seven days since I last kissed you? How disappointing.**

**-M**

**--**

_MR-_

_Do you know that it's been three days since we last made close physical contact? I don't think I can take it much longer. I'm almost curious to see what would happen if I walked over there and planted one on you._

_-IJ_

_--_

**IJ-**

**Whose stopping you? I'm just as curious, mind you. But then Abner would probably beat you to death with one of these shovels we're using. And as handsome I'm sure you'd still be all covered in bruises and gashes, I'd rather not risk it, you know?**

**-MR**

**--**

_Ravenwood-_

_Too true. What time is it? I'm hungry._

_-Jones_

_--_

**Named after a Dog-**

**Always stomach first, eh? It's a quarter till twelve. I'm hungry too. Wanna go catch a bite to eat?**

**- Named after a bisexual Persian queen**

**--**

_Named after a bisexual Persian queen- (??)_

_Of course my stomach comes first. What else tops it? Can't have lunch with you, I've gotta help your father go over some maps. This isn't fun at all, when do you think these crazy archaeologists are going to let me off so I can see you?_

_-Named after a dog_

_--_

**Hazel eyes-**

**I'm not sure what else can top your own stomach. How about 'the girl with green eyes', maybe? Crap, Abner keeps you far too busy. We never DO get a break, honestly. And seeing as you are one of those crazy archaeologists yourself, aren't you able to interpret their strange dialect of insanity?**

**-Green Eyes**

**--**

_Freckles-_

_Well, yeah, the girl with green eyes MIGHT top my hunger priorities. That depends. I can usual interpret the crazy archaeologist language, but lately, I've been a little less crazed for archaeology and a little more crazed for someone else._

_-Fedora_

_--_

**Fedora- (which I might add that I'm going to steal again, watch out!)**

**Hey, let me tell you that the girl with green eyes wants to throw one of these pieces of fossilized human at the back of your lovely head as of now. Aw, crazed for someone else? You're such a charmer, really. Oh, and by the way, Oxley is wondering why you keep walking by here to 'go get some water'. You're not feeling ill, are you, you sly little archaeologist?**

**-Freckles (as to why you picked one of my worst attributes to use as my penname, I'll never have any idea)**

**--**

_Freckles- (they are very becoming to you, don't be modest)_

_Please do inform the girl with the green eyes that I would NOT appreciate her throwing pieces of carcass at me. In fact, it would provoke me to-- OW! You little...ugh. Alright, you asked for it. Tell Oxley I ate some bad dates and I'm feeling dehydrated, he doesn't need to know that I'm passing these uselss notes to you._

_-Fedora (you may try to steal it, but in the end you will fail)_

_--_

**Arrogant Bastard who is throwing parts of dead people at me-**

**The girls with the green eyes is pressing charges as of now. You, Dr. Jones, are being sued for one million dollars. Suck on that. And if you throw anything else at her, she is going to come over there and personally kick your sorry little ass. Alright? And that Fedora is bloody MINE. I earned it in the first place, so do not deny me my human rights to wear that hat. **

**Oxley suggests chewing on some mint, which helps end dehydration. **

**-The lovely girl at the North end of the tomb**

**--**

_Dear nasty little spitfire with clumsy habits-_

_Inform your green eyed mutant that I am not in possession of one million dollars. My apologies. I really am sorry I can't pay her. And if you want the Fedora, come and get it. _

_Human rights? What are you ON, Marion?_

_And thank Oxley for the mint tip. I guess I'll have to be forgetting to grab something else from the water basin. _

_And just for calling me an arrogant bastard, I'm going to throw more random objects on you. _

_-The extremely good looking guy at the South end of the tomb_

_--_

**Dear Idiot who I am going to kill-**

**One million dollars, take it or leave it. If you leave it, you'll suffer the repercussions of a severe beating from the girl with green eyes. And she is NOT mutant. **

**I'm not ON anything. Owning the Fedora is my right, so don't ask me if I'm drunk or something. I'm completely sober thank you very much.**

**Argh! I swear, Jones, you better stop throwing things at me or I'll...**

**Okay, we're even now.**

**-The innocent woman who is completely sane**

_--_

_Dear girl with the pretty smile- (you are insane, you know, no competition)_

_A severe beating? Wow. I'm scared. I'm sure you'll put me in my place._

_Seeing as the Fedora has been in my possession for as long as I've known it, it's mine, not yours. And you may be sober, but I am still allowed to question your current state of mind._

_And I'd also like to point out that that rock you threw at me two minutes ago? Yeah, I've got a bruise on my head, so thank you._

_-The mature manly god who is very educated_

_--_

**Dear boy with the attractive laugh-**

**I will put you in your place and you know it. Sure, anyone is allowed to question someone else about that person's current state of mind, but that doesn't mean there is anything wrong with this person. As is the case with me, I'm perfectly normal.**

**You're welcome for the bruise, by the way. My pleasure.**

**-The sophisticated woman who is very determined**

**--**

_Girl-_

_If you were completely normal, I'd never notice you. Trust me, I'm so happy you're everything BUT normal. _

_-Boy_

_--_

**I-**

**I'll be taking that as a compliment, even if it was meant to insult. Because I am very sophisticated that way.**

**-M**

**--**

_M-_

_It could be interpreted as either. I'll see you at lunch._

_-I_

_--_

**Indy-**

**I'll be the one with the pretty smile and green eyes.**

**-Marion**

**

* * *

**

Another useless drabble over the ignored word limit that I adored writing. Please look for typos, read and review, and for information on me/mylife/mywritingscehdule check out my author page.

LOVE YOU ALL!


	86. Partners

"Today," Abner instructs, "You will be partnering up with someone and sawing through the tablets we have set up for you. Professor Oxley, Jones and I need to see exactly how old this stone is. In front of you are several saws, please be careful because these are very sharp. That is all."

I glance across the room, searching for a similar pair of irritatingly-handsome eyes and nearly jump out of my skin when he appears from behind me.

"I certainly hope you're not taken, Miss Ravenwood." He says lightly, obviously unaware of the goosebumps that are erupting all around my entire body.

I shake my head, surprise nearly immobilizing me at how suddenly CLOSE we are. Its illegal, and totally breaking the whole must-be-friends-or-else-Abner-will-take-shot-gun-down-from-the-wall-and-shoot-both-of-us rule. But I like it, I LOVE IT, having my back pressed against Indy's canvas like shirt.

"Alright then." He says, walking over to a saw and handing me one of the double ends. "You know what to do?"

I recover from my lapse of mind and scoff. "Of course."

And so we begin, sawing back and forth at the ages old tablet. A few shared stares is all we do for the next ten minutes or so. Sweat beads on his brow as we saw on and on, heat rising in waves off our bodies.

I'm so busy watching his face that my grip on the saw slips and my palm stings suddenly as the blade slices through the surface skin.

"Ow." I mutter, glancing down at my hand, now spotted with crimson liquid. "Ow, shit, shit, shit..."

"Marion!" Indy scrambles over to me, the look of all but a concerned parent on his face. I snatch my hand away from him before he can see how bad I'm bleeding.

"It's fine." I lie, gritting my teeth. "It just bloody hurts."

"Are you sure?" He asks, looking me over once more.

I look down at a sudden pressure on my arms and find that somehow, he's grasped my arms without either of us noticing it. We're nearly nose to nose.

Needless to say, this isn't really good timing to cue the infamous Marion-blush/butterflies/knees-weakening/falling-into-his-gorgeous-eyes. But it happens anyways, as it always does when Jones gets too close.

"I-I'm fine." The words fall from my lips softer than a whisper, lost among the racing storm that seems to fly about both of us.

The physical barrier has really been breached way too much, and its too dangerous. We're about to kiss each other, (okay, well maybe I'M about to kiss HIM, but does it matter? Honestly...) and everyone working on this archaeological dig is present for it.

And it's not like I actually have any power over this situation. I might as well be trying to stop an earthquake.

"Okay." He says firmly.

I feel his grip loosen, and he finally lets go; reluctantly, might I add, much to my immense and greedy satisfaction.

"Hey you two!" Abner yells at us. "Quit your dillydallying and get to work!"

Using a scrap of cloth, I bandage my hand when Indy is not looking, wincing as the cut stings.

"You know," I whisper over to him as we begin to saw once more, "We probably shouldn't have chosen one another as partners."

He grunts and adds, "You're telling me."

* * *

**Yay! More drabble! Read and review and look for typos and I will absolutely worship at your feet! And also check out my new profile poll.**


	87. Skin

"Shit." I curse, nervous sweat leaking down my temples.

Only I could get myself into this kind of bloody stupid situation.

I got my pick axe stuck in the wall of the tomb.

Taking hold of the tool with both hands, I wrench it with all my might, leaning back and giving all my weight into trying to pull it out.

I don't even know HOW this happened. But I hit the stone too hard, and now the stupid thing won't come out.

I groan and stifle a scream of frustration.

"C'mon." I coax under my breath, not caring if anyone stares oddly (Which they are. My reputation is not helped).

"OI! Ravenwood!"

I ignore the voice, biting my lip as I pull furiously at the immovable pick axe.

"Need some help?"

I whip around and snap at the dimwit who's talking to me, "No, of course I don't need help. I'm just pretending that my archaeological tool is stuck in a wall to spite myself."

With a chuckle, Indiana Jones walks over to me, a sauntering grace about him that makes my heart clench.

"Here," He says calmly, reaching forward and around me, placing his hands on mine, "Try pulling it up and then out."

"You don't think I tried that?" I ask sharply, affronted.

"I'm sure you did, Marion." He murmurs soothingly in my ear, hot breath surrounding and fogging my thoughts.

And...cue the melting of Marion Ravenwood's entire body.

"I did." I say firmly, refusing to look at him for his sake (I don't think it matters much, but when Abner is pissed off enough, he will use his shot gun. I'm not kidding).

"But you're not tall enough to pull it directly up." He counters.

I scowl, because that's all the wit I can come up with.

"Alright, on a count of three, I'm going to lift you up and you're going to pull this troublesome object up and out of the wall, alright?"

I'm about to protest heavily, knowing I will fall on the ground, but I bite my tongue back and nod anyways.

"Okay." I say faintly.

"One." He starts to count down, placing his hands on my waist. I thank God my shirt is tucked in.

"Two." I bend my knees, flexing my fingers as I prepare to jump.

"Three." I leap up, stretching my hands upward. I grab the pick axe and yank it out of the wall. For a fraction of a second, triumph washes over me and I let out a yell of happiness.

And somewhere in the midst of my victory, I don't happen to remember that I am suspended in mid-air. I topple down, my back slamming against Indy's chest as we fall together.

"Ugh." I groan, my head throbbing.

Once again, this could only occur to me.

"Marion! Are you alright? I'm sorry!" Indy nearly shouts, making my head hurt even more.

"Don't apologize." I grunt. "Just shut your yap, alright?"

I lay there for a second or so, trying to relieve my aching muscles by remaining still. The rise and fall of Indy's chest as he laughs below my back makes me move as well.

It's now that I realize his hands have completely encircled my waist. My scrawny, shirt-ridden-up-five-inches, BARE waist.

He's touching me, fingers and palms against the naked flesh on my hips.

Skin on skin.

For the first time in God-knows-how-long, Indiana Jones and I are making the closest physical contact since the closet incident.

We're so lucky that no one can see us in this secluded corner in the tomb.

Is there a reason I'm not breathing?

A reason I've suddenly become gelatinous in my legs and arms?

I feel him shift underneath me, and we both stand, though I stagger as my head pounds. Ow.

His grip is gone from my waist, a fact I take in with heavy but quiet disappointment.

A staring contest for a few moments, and then he asks, "You should probably go take a break. You look dazed."

Oh really, Jones? I hadn't noticed.

He turns, and then turns back, an uneasy but still relaxed smirk on his face. "Don't ever let me touch you again, Marion." His eyes linger on me, and his smirk grows bigger. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that teasing is not a virtue, sweetheart?"

And with that said, he walks away.

I sag against the wall, pick axe still in hand as I remind myself to take deep, much needed breaths.

I...

Ugh.

Shit.

* * *

**I'm well aware that I suck a lot for only giving you this one update this week. But I would appreciate it if you would review, look for typos, and check out my profile for additional update info. **


	88. Moment

It happens as I sit for a minute down in the tomb. All I do is look over at him as he laughs at some joke Oxley just told, his hazel eyes twinkling and his hair rustling as he runs a hand through it.

It happens, and I have no way to stop it.

I crack.

Two weeks. TWO. WEEKS.

Two weeks without kissing Indiana Jones, hugging Indiana Jones or even allowing myself to day dream of Indiana Jones (Okay, so maybe I DID dream of him, but I really had no control, mind you.).

Two weeks.

And I just can't bloody take it anymore.

I leap up and stalk across the dusty floor. Not caring how incredibly desperate I appear. I walk right up to him as he bends over a bunch of maps.

"Indiana Jones, may I speak to you?" Did I say that? And since when do I sound all commando?

He whips around and his eyes widen, while I wonder how angry I actually look.

"Okay." He shrugs.

No one notices as we leave the tomb, mostly because one of the workers just passed out and everyone is tending to him. I grab Indy's hand, so coarse and large as I drag him out of the people filled area to a more...secluded area.

I yank him into my tent, zipping up the flap and turning towards him. I cross my arms over my chest and glare. The tension is thick like honey in the tent, and we both know why I'm pissed as hell.

And make no mistake, I'm not only pissed. I'm merciless.

"I-..." He trails off and falls into staring at me, a look on his face that I can't even begin to discern.

I glare even harder.

An apology is forming on his lips, I can tell, an apology for something that is not even his fault. Poor sap.

I cut him off, "Henry Jones, if you don't kiss me right now I swear that you WILL have something to apologize about."

I'm expecting him to object, asking me if I have any sense of how risky this is. I'm expecting to be revolted by my blatant announcement. I'm expecting him to walk out my tent while calling me a madwoman.

Heh, I wouldn't blame him.

But that Jones...always possessing the element of surprise, that one.

A smile of great wicked mischievousness makes its way onto his face and my heart rattles in my ribcage.

He crosses the distance between us in two giant steps and, grabbing me by the waist, pulls me into a kiss.

OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod!!

I don't have to think about reacting this time. My arms are almost instantly locked around his neck, and my lips are fully responding to his. Not that it matters, I don't even register anything going on outside our lips. All I know is that I'm getting the most mind-blowing kiss of my life.

He's not hesitant like the first two times we kissed, and neither am I. Our lips are glued, sewn, and possibly welded together as countless amounts of seconds tick by.

I can't even begin to describe how GREAT this feels. How floaty my head feels, how unstable my whole body feels right now. How long I've waited for this, how many times I wished/dreamt/fantasized about this moment. I just...I seriously want to do nothing else but melt into a puddle on the ground floor of my tent.

Indy's hands reach up and cup my face and he pulls away for all of one point five seconds before assassinating me with another array of kisses.

"You" --kiss on the lips-- "are the most" --kiss on the forehead-- "sneaky" --peck on the lips-- "little" --another-- "vixen" --a longer kiss this time, say, five seconds or so-- "I have ever" --A REALLY LONG KISS-- "met!"

If I could answer...hell, if I could even form a coherent thought right now, I'd probably tell him that he is really being too kind. But at the moment, I happen to be a wee bit preoccupied by some intense lip action on his behalf

I eventually gather up enough will power to mumble, "Well, I try." Into his lips. It has a rather interesting effect, my lips vibrating with my voice as I continue to kiss this idiot for all I'm bloody worth.

He manages to separate our lips and gathers me to his chest, burying his face into my hair. "I missed you." He murmurs, kissing my temple. "I missed all of you."

"Mmmm." I hum along, a smug grin stretching across my face as I thread my fingers through his tousled hair.

"I can't see how we'll be able to keep this up." He says after a few minutes of holding me, pulling back to look me in the eye.

I'm nearly struck dumb by the blatant honesty in his eyes. I find that I want to just stay like this forever, in his arms, forever oblivious to the potentially murderous fathers that lurk nearby. I kiss Jones quickly and press my forehead up against his.

"I guess we'll just have to make these little moments count, right?" I ask with a grin, placing a palm on his jaw.

"If only they could last forever." He sighs dramatically.

Ha, took the words right out of my mouth.

"We'll make time, darling." I say lightly, detaching myself from him with a devilish smile. I walk to the flap of the tent and begin to walk out. "Take care of yourself, now. We don't want those sexy lips of yours getting damaged."

A bewildered blink is all I get from him before I return to the tomb, my entire body encased in a happy, bubbling, simply infernal bout of giggles.

A vixen he calls me? Ha.

At least I'm not the tempting god with the amazing hat.

Now THAT is something is something to be serious about, let me tell you.

* * *

**A/N: REVIEW AND LOOK FOR TYPOS! I LOVE ALL WHO DO!**


	89. Hiccups

Did I ever mention how much it monumentally sucks when I have hiccups?

Well, it does.

It starts shortly after breakfast after I wolf down my morning meal. I run to my work station and began shoveling away at the piles of dirt, ever so dutifully.

"Hic." The small sound erupts from the back of my throat, causing several workers around me to give strange looks.

Crap.

I shake my head in denial of my own ailment and return to my work. Seconds later I let out another, more high pitched sound.

"Hic!"

"Pitcher Girl, are you feeling okay?" One of the workers ask.

I answer, but its hard to tell what exactly I'm saying.

"I'm--hic--feeling fine. Why do--hic--you ask?"

"Well, here in Cairo it is believed that hiccups are a death omen." The worker replies, giving me a sympathetic look.

I reply with two hiccups in a row.

Great, just great.

Now I'm going to die.

--

Hours later I'm lying on my cot, eyes closed and head throbbing as I hiccup every ten seconds or so. I sound like a drunk man. A dying drunk man.

I could have died a thousand different ways. I could have been pushed off a cliff, or lynched, or killed and cooked into a meat pie. But no, I have to go ahead and die a quirky and fairly annoying death. My gravestone will read: Here lies Marion Elena Ravenwood, taken by hiccups.

That is epic sounding, I tell you.

Indy enters my tent, and though I can't see him I know that sauntering step anywhere.

"I thought you could use some medicine." He says.

My eyes remain firmly shut and I groan in frustration. I hate it when he pops up at the most ridiculous of times.

"Nothing can--hic--help me now." I croak, squinting up at him. "Just--hic--make sure they put me in a nice coffin when I--hic--die."

"Always the dramatic, aren't we?" He asks playfully, sitting down beside me and brushing hair out of my face.

My eyes are fully open now, and I try to look plenty furious.

"I'll--hic--have you--hic--know that this is no--hic--light hearted--hic--topic."

"Of course." His attempt at being serious is foiled as his smug grin slips casually on his face. I'm not sure whether I want to kiss it or smack it off.

"I'm--hic--dying. Just--hic--leave me in--hic--peace."

I finish my speech with a sigh, quickly followed by a rather loud, parrot-like (Do parrots even hiccup?) hiccup.

Indy starts laughing his head off as if there's nothing wrong at the moment. As if no one is sitting here DYING of this infernal disease.

And yet, despite my furious face, he just keeps laughing until I consider asking him if he needs some alone time because seriously, no one can laugh for that length of time without being a) clinically insane or b) completely wasted on alcohol.

When his laughter subsides, he looks up at me from where he had been holding his head in his hands as he cracked up. I can tell by the twinkling and hypnotic state of his eyes and the broad smile on his face that is mood is not about to be dampened.

"Really,--hic--are you done acting--hic--like a madman?" I ask.

He's struggling to hold back another attack of hysterical laughter, I can tell. It takes him a minute, but he finally gains enough control to say, "I brought you a treatment. It's a magical remedy bound to cure your 'illness'."

I give him a raised eyebrows and a questioning hiccup.

"Please try it?" He begs.

"Hic." Is all I say.

With that, he leans forward and kisses me on the lips.

And suddenly, I'm cured already.

But he pulls away all to soon and before I can tell him that I am most certainly NOT completely healed, he shoves something in my mouth.

A sugar cube.

At first I choke on it, eyes watering as the dry, coarse cube hits my throat. I grab the glass of water on my nightstand and chug it down. About a minute later I retain my breath, a near face-breaking smile on me as I realize my hiccups are gone.

I look up at Indiana and throw my arms around him.

I'm not going to die!

HOORAY FOR LIVING!

"Oh thankyouthankyouthankyouTHANKYOU!" I tell him between kisses, hoping its enough for a repayment.

His odd and incandescent blush tells me it is.

"It was my pleasure." He says, standing up. "You know, you're really quite amusing when you think you're on the verge of death. It happens often enough."

"Does not." I retort, standing up as well but failing to measure up to his height.

"Well, since knowing you, you've nearly fallen out of a tree and then you swore you were dead, you claimed to be dying from a homework induced coronary, you once tried to commit suicide by eating your own weight in cookie dough, you drank too much vodka and claimed to 'die' the next morning, and you also almost died from lack of sleep, due to airplane rides."

I freeze, slack-jawed.

Jeez.

Ominous much, Ravenwood?

I shove him out of my tent, though I blow him a kiss as he shakes his fist at me.

I still hear his uproarious laughter as he heads back down to the tomb.

* * *

**Yay! Surprise update! I was feeling spontaneous and benevolent so I thought I'd give you all an almost-weekend-but-not-quite treat! Please read, review and look for typos!**


	90. The Art of Eavesdropping and Lying

Why the bleeding hell can't they just SHUT UP?!

I mean, really, I expected Abner and Oxley to party and drink themselves silly, but is all this shouting truly necessary?

I mean, Lord, I can't even tell what they're saying, they're THAT wasted. It sounds like some mix of French and German, but I don't even think Abner speaks those languages.

I'll give them five minutes to shut it.

Or two.

Or one.

Or twelve seconds.

I stand up, kicking off my covers and slipping out of my tent. The camp is oddly quiet and I have to wonder what time it is.

Because honestly, no sane seventeen year old should be awake at this hour.

Who am I kidding? I am most certainly not sane. Having a gradually-losing-himself-father and a very-secret-very-sexy Indiana Jones on my mind gives me no right at all to be even remotely sane.

So there.

I consider going to Indy's tent to wake him up (He's always a convenient asset when it comes to convincing a rather grumpy Abner to go to bed) but decide against it.

I cross the camp, blending in perfectly with the starless night. As I near the main tent, I notice that the yelling has decrescendoed to near whispers. Rolling my eyes at the thought of the dirty joke that Abner ad Ox are probably giggling about right now, I walk towards the entrance of the tent and prepare to go in

"We're simply curious about Egyptian history and artifacts; we don't want to start trouble or anything." Abner's voice drifts out of the tent.

I freeze. Is this the punch line of the joke or something?

It must be some Archaeologist thing.

Or is it another conversation that's taking place?

I stand there at the doorway, debating with my clearly suicidal curiosity.

To eavesdrop, or not to eavesdrop?

Giving into my evil side, I tiptoe to the right wall of the tent and press my ear oh-so-lightly to the canvas.

Yeah, call me nosy all you want.

Psh.

"Any particular artifacts, Dr. Ravenwood?"

I blink widely at the sound of another voice, far different than both Oxley and Abners'. It's thickly accented, and I can now see where the earlier French was coming from.

I should leave.

I should go RIGHT NOW.

The punishment for eavesdropping on Abner's personal affairs is death. So frankly, I don't know why I'm risking my neck.

But, I repeat, some part of me wants to die young and my desire to hear the other muffled voices gets the best of me. Spying a stack of crates, I walk over and cautiously climb on top. The crates wobble unstably, and I'm starting to think I'm not as scrawny as I think. Balancing, I lean forward to one of the holes in the fabric of the tent.

Oh, I am an expert.

"Look," Joins in Oxley's voice, "We don't want a fight. We're just looking around for artifacts of value."

"Then I'm sure you won't mind, Doctor Oxley, if we search the area for what we are looking for?" The other voice replies.

Something is wrong.

Something is very wrong.

Abner and Ox aren't drunk, nor are they alone. I press closer to the hole, or as close as I can without being seen.

"You have no right." Abner bristles, "You are trespassing on private research areas."

Yeah, you tell him, dad.

The French guy (whose name is unofficially now 'Frenchy'; has a nice ring to it, you know) chuckles, a sound that makes my skin crawl. "Of course, we would not dare trespass. But if we have your permission Dr. Ravenwood..."

The sentence dwindles off into silence.

What's happening?

More silence.

WHAT THE SHITTING HELL IS GOING ON?

Right as I'm about to scream in anticipation, I hear something.

A click.

The subtle click of a well loaded pistol.

I cover my mouth to stifle my gasp.

Oh. My. God.

"I'm sure Doctor," Frenchy continues calmly, "That you won't mind if we just take a few minutes to inspect your stock." I can hear the smugness in his voice. "I'm sure we wi**l**l be--"

The bloke's sentence is cut off by a crash, a grunt, a thud and then another silence.

I'm staring at the wall of the tent, wishing I could see through it into that room.

Another click.

"Put the gun down." Growls another voice, much more familiar to me than necessary.

Holy.....

WHAT IS HE DOING HERE?

I'm so shocked by the sound of his voice that my foot slips on the crate I'm crouched on.

From then on, all else goes to hell in a hand basket.

Of course.

I slip, the crates come crashing down, and in my sad sad SAD attempt to stay upright I grab the wall of the tent, tearing through the fabric and falling right in.

Ha, eavesdropper extraordinaire my ass.

My landing is neither as painful nor as graceful as my previous accidents/mishaps. I land on Oxley's cot, a complete mess of limbs and bed sheets. When I straighten myself and look up, I notice several things.

a) The big gap in the tent. I didn't MEAN to rip it wide open, but damn my klutziness, it just had to bloody happen! I'm for sure going to be forced to sew it together again by Abner.

b) There's going to be a bruise on my shin (Which painfully collided with one of the tent poles on my way down) the size of my fist tomorrow.

c) Two guns are being pointed at me, though I'm not exactly sure whether it's intentional or not. I mean, if some crazy green eyed asylum escapee came barreling into MY tent, I wouldn't hesitate to shoot her. But truthfully, I'd like to live a little longer. Indy is holding the first gun, but after staring at me for a full two seconds, he switches positions and aims it at Frenchy, who is holding the other gun.

I stand, blushing and darting glances around the room.

It's quite a comical situation, for people with my sick sense of humor. Abner and Oxley look more surprised than anything, both wearing expressions that make it look as if they were just hit over the head with a rock. Indy looks murderous, for some reason, glaring at everyone in the tent at the same time. Frenchy looks confused, and his henchmen (three of them, all locals) look the same as their leader. I'm probably quite the sight to see, in my pajamas and all, but seeing as they're the ones who brought me here in the first place, my appearance is justified.

Once I get over the hilarious demeanors of everyone, I look around the room.

There's a henchman stirring on the floor beneath a broken table and now I understand where the crash came from. As he groans in pain and turns toward the light, I can tell there is no mistaking that black covering over his left (or is it his right?) eye.

"Patches?" I blurt upon recognizing him.

He doesn't answer, only staring at me as if I'm some sort of madwoman.

Eh, I don't blame him.

Frenchy drops his gun and makes his way towards me, a rather amused smile on his face. "We seem to have acquired an eavesdropper." He chuckles, giving me an open smile. "Bonjour Mademoiselle. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

'Marion' is on the tip on my tongue, but as I look at Indy, with that bloody gun still pointed at my interrogator, he gives me the strangest look. There's enough fury in it to let me know the meaning: LIE.

Sure enough, the lie is out before I can think about it.

"Helga." I answer with a demure smile.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

HELGA?!

"I'm very pleased to meet you. Your father must be very proud of such a beautiful woman." Frenchy praises, eyeing me.

Um....EW?

I giggle as if this conversation is really very light. "Oh, Dr. Ravenwood is not my father." I smile, eyes flickering towards Indy. "I'm actually his assistant. Dr. Jones is my brother."

Brother?!

Oh, real smooth, Marion.

Of COURSE he's your brother. A brother that looks NOTHING like you and who you often fantasize about without any clothing on.

I'm mad, I tell you.

Stark raving mad.

"And what, Miss Helga, were you doing outside of the tent at this hour?" Frenchy questions while leaning in to me.

I'm vaguely aware of my father turning beet red with anger, Oxley glaring and Indy readjusting his grip on the pistol. I consider warning this poor idiot that he's about to die a very painful death but change my mind. Instead, I make up another lie.

"I was checking the tent canvas for any scarab beetles. I was told to make sure they don't puncture the tent." I answer, choosing to turn flirtatious (Hey! Desperate times call for desperate measures, so bugger off!).

"So, I take it that Dr. Ravenwood trusts you with all of his personal affairs?"

I don't get why I was worrying about this. Lying comes too easy for me.

"Yes, all of them. He says I'm very consistent and trustworthy."

I should be a professional liar, I should.

Indy's previously grim-set face shifts slightly as the corner of his lips form a small smile.

"Well, then maybe a girl of your intelligence will know of a certain artifact we are seeking. It's rumored to be in these outskirts of Cairo. My friends and I had come by to see if your boss has heard of it."

"Dr. Ravenwood has acquired many artifacts on this dig." I reply coyly. "But yes, I probably know what you are looking for."

"It's the headpiece to the staff of Ra, perhaps you have seen it?"

"Why, of course I have, its--"

The look on Indy's face makes me stop mid sentence.

Oh shit.

Why the fuck did I just say that!?

The words 'My father is wearing it around his neck right now' almost escaped my mouth. The tent is silent for a few minutes and I feel like I'm going to pass out.

SAY SOMETHING YOU DOLT! I scream at myself.

"It's mentioned in all of the stories the workers tell, but we've not seen it." I assure Frenchy, maintaining my sweet layer.

He bows his head with a smirk.

"Very well, I must go now and look for the headpiece elsewhere. It's nice to meet you, Helga." He lifts my hand and kisses it. I suppress a gag.

Patches barks something in the local language to the other men, who all saunter out of the tent. Frenchy himself begins to walk out, but then turns to Abner and says, "You're rather lucky your assistant has such good timing. Good night, Doctors Oxley and Ravenwood." He nods at each of them, and then turns to Indy with a rather contemptuous expression. "Jones."

And just like that, I'm left in a tent with three pissed-looking grown men.

Oh Sweet Mary and Joseph, let me live!

Once the sound of car engines fade off into the distance, Abner speaks. "Indiana," He grunts, his beady eyes on me, "Take my daughter to her tent, please."

Jones nods, placing the pistol back on the table and grabbing me by the elbow as we leave the main tent. As happy as I am to be with this guy again, the fury emanating from him is enough to keep me from saying a word. He's angry, and that's all the back-off-or-else warning I need.

The poor, overprotective sap walks me to my own tent as if I can't do it myself. We both stand dumbly in the dark, me in my frumpy hair and boy's night clothes (Which I now wish I had traded out for that prettier, much more FITTING nightgown) and him in his flawless appearance, slacks and button down shirt. We're quite the pair, aren't we?

Wow, this is awkward.

He's staring at me, face unreadable and I'm once again captivated by his mere face.

Of all the things I SHOULD be thinking about right now....

"Stay here." He commands in a soft voice, gripping my elbow tighter. "I'll be back in a few hours to explain what I can to you."

I nod, the intensity of his tone making my eyes water.

"Promise not to wander off, especially now?" He pleads, hazel all but boiling within his irises.

I nod and he leaves.

I sit down on my cot and rub my temples, so as to dull the throbbing of my head from all the questions zooming to around inside it. The precise perfection of eavesdropping and lying has truly drained me, yet I have no will to fall asleep as the most important question of all presents itself me.

What the hell WAS that?

* * *

**Well, obviously I'm still alive, though just barely. Excuse the language, but I warn you that there may be more to come as the plot lengthens. **

**I've been gone for so long that I thought I'd give you this way over the limit update, so please enjoy. Read, review, look for typos, beat me with a stick for not updating enough, and check out my profile for information on updates and other crap.**

**I love you all, you know I do.**


	91. Confined to the Tent of Madness

I'm grounded.

Punished.

Without any rights besides eating, sleeping and breathing.

And also...you know, getting the occasional visit from Indiana Jones when everyone else is asleep.

I'm still waiting for that to happen, however. Forgive me for hoping and wishing.

I've been in my tent for God-knows-how-many hours. I've had several moments where I've considered going on a killing rampage, because let me tell you that being stuck in a tent does things to your mind. I'm bored, tired, dirty, and so confused.

It's sometime past midnight, meaning I've been in here for about twenty four hours or so, and I'm sprawled out on the dirt floor, counting grains of individual sand. I'm kicking my legs back and forth and trying to keep the homicidal urges away.

I'm just about to scream in frustration when a voice snaps me out of my internal ravings.

"Marion? Are you awake?" Indy walks into my tent hesitantly.

Like a cat, I leap and pounce, nearly strangling the poor guy in the process. That wasn't my intentional goal originally, but its a nice way to release my pent up energy.

"What is going on? Why am I stuck in here? Who was that French guy? And why was Patches here?" The gazillions of questions come pouring out of my mouth like vomit. "Is Abner mad at me? Why were you holding a pistol? Who were--mph!"

I'm completely silenced as Indy reaches down, pulls my face to his and kisses me. I can't say that I didn't miss those lips on mine in the last day or so, because in all honesty, they were one of the only things I could think about while trapped in here. I don't care about my unanswered questions right now.

And besides, who am I to say no to such a generous gift?

In the midst of all this luscious lip action, I somehow end up sitting on my chest of drawers, making Jones and I the same height. My fingers are knotted in his hair, his arms are completely around me, covering the expanse of my back. I'm hardly registering anything other than the fact that we are kissing. He is everywhere as of right now, his hands, his lips, his eyes, I'm completely unable to stop myself and (as sad is this is to say about my slaggish ways) I probably will never find the courage to stop.

In the end, he's the one who pulls away from me, grinning like an idiot. I suppose his expression is quite the opposite of mine, me looking confused and on quite a high buzz from the recent snog.

"You're brilliant." He says continuing to smile at me. "You know that, right? You. Are. Brilliant."

"What did I even do?" My voice sounds weak as if I just ran ten miles. Might as well have.

"You lied. You lied and saved all our asses from getting killed." He cups my cheek and presses a kiss to my nose. "I'd never been so scared shit-less in my life until you came tumbling through the side of the bloody tent." He kisses me again, and it takes a full second to get my concentration back. "And then, when other girls would have been screaming to get out of there, you lied your way out. You lied us right of the situation!"

This, as ultimately flattering as it is to hear, does not explain any of my questions whatsoever. But I can't bring myself to mention anything more as he kisses me yet again.

It's pathetic how easily I can become a puddle in this guy's hands.

Several minutes later, I'm sporting mussed hair, swollen lips and gulp-like breaths. Indy is still in front of me, still smiling like the bloody sun. I place my head on his shoulder and try to steady myself, though its possible I might fall over any second. He laughs quietly and kisses my hair.

"W-who were those people?' I ask, once I've regained my breath. I need to stop him from kissing me, because as much as I crave those lips, I'm sure that if my heart rate does not slow down that I'm going to die of a heart attack.

I can feel him stiffen beneath me and start to pull away, but I latch my hands around his neck and glare. I may need him to stop kissing me, but I certainly never said anything about not touching me.

He's avoiding my gaze, looking at the floor rather than me. After a short silence, he grunts, "They were looking for the Headpiece."

I already know this, but a twist of fear still trickles into my body. "How did they know about it?"

A smile tugs at his lips as he looks amusingly at me. "Patches."

"He was spying on us in the market place." The realization comes spilling out and Indy nods.

"Who was the French guy?"

He doesn't answer, and the look on his face keeps me from asking again. I bring up another question.

"If I'm as 'brilliant' as you say, for saving the day and all, then why am I confined to the tent of madness forever?"

"The tent of madness?" I can make out his smirk in the dark.

"Yes, because I am going mad in here."

"More mad than usual?"

I pause, mulling it over. "Yes."

He laughs and then says, "Abner is terrified to admit that you breaking the rules saved his sorry ass." He grins at me. "How much did you hear when you were eavesdropping?"

I explain what I heard, ignoring the feeling that Indy will probably tell Abner all of this. Jones proved to be a rather fantastic and also rather distracting audience, yet I somehow managed to finish my tale.

He watches me warily, looking really worried.

"What?" I ask, kissing him once on the lips.

"Abner is putting up a night watch." He says quietly, "He thinks they're going to come back."

"They might, they might not." I answer cheerily.

"You don't get it, Marion," He says, shaking his head, "Our entire dig is in danger. If they find the Headpiece, well, that's an entire life's-worth of work that your father loses."

I don't reply, simply biting my lips and staring at him.

"Now, Abner is going to free you tomorrow morning. I'm supposed to be asleep, but I needed to talk to you. When you become ungrounded, you are not to leave my sight, alright? I don't care if you enjoy privacy, because as of now, you have none."

Spending 24/7 with Indiana Jones? What the hell is there to complain about?

YES!!!!!!

I resist the urge to do my victory dance and instead sigh. "If I must."

"I need to go." He says after a few seconds. "Promise to stay within my line of vision?"

I roll my eyes, "Promise."

And with that said, we share one more kiss, rather long and yummy when you think about it.

He whispers in my ear, "Have fun in the tent of madness, and do try not to kill yourself."

He walks out, muttering happily about 'mad women' under his breath.

* * *

**The only reason I'm able to post this is because I'm home sick with a fever and truly hating it. Do me a favor and review/check for typos? And if you're wondering how I'm doing, check out my profile. **


	92. Snake

**Heh.....well, it's been a while hasn't it?? Um....for explanations, apologies and other interesting notes about my life, check out my profile. There you will find out the mystery to my long term disappearance. But before you kill me, just read and review this chapter. And look for any typos. :)**

* * *

Once I'm ungrounded, I'm immediately get put to work while being babysat by my own personal bodyguard.

Which really, considering who my bodyguard is, I don't mind at all.

"Sheesh, you'd think these archaeologists would get tired of digging day after day." I mutter to Indy as we begin a long and dreaded ambush on the southwestern corner of the tomb.

Everyone else is on the other side and out of view, giving me and my bodyguard some...rather convenient privacy.

"Does it really matter?" His strong arms create a snare about my waist and as I try to squirm away, he only hugs me tighter.

I suppose he's right, but it's not like I can even give a personal opinion at the moment, what with the way he's nuzzling my ear and all.

I push him away. "We're going to get caught." I warn.

The bloody idiot just smiles and kisses me. I find it really difficult to push him away again, because all my lips do is beg for more.

"Mmm..." I hum into his lips without caring if Abner walks in on us.

He breaks the kiss and looks down at me. "I'm terrible at this babysitting. Don't you agree...baby?"

It's impossible to stop the girlish giggle from escaping me. I can't help it that kissing this guy is like giving me laughing gas.

"You are." I inform him. "Now, let's get some damage done so it'll at least look like we're trying hard to find artifacts, okay?"

We turn opposite directions and begin digging, but before I can even stick my pick axe into the dirt, a loud, strident scream sounds behind me.

"What the--?" My question is cut off as I'm knocked over.

I look up from the ground to Indy, who is scrambling to get away from his current location. He's shaking and pointing at a small crevice between two rocks.

I glance incredulously at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Th-there's a....a sn--sn--sn..." The poor guy can't even speak, he's so scared. "A snake!"

A shiver works it's way down my spine. I've never been particularly fond of snakes, but I can handle the non venomous ones.

"A snake?" I raise an eyebrow. "Well, what kind was it?" I can see the justification in his panic attack, but only if it was a poisonous snake like an adder or a cobra.

He shakes his head. "I don't know."

Hesitantly, I lean forward and look into the small crevice in the wall. I hear a low hiss and observe what scared my babysitter so badly.

"A garter snake?" I laugh, lifting the small reptile between my thumb and forefinger. "This can't hurt you, Jones!"

"I hate snakes, Marion." He says shakily. "I've hated them ever since I was little." He shudders, gulping.

"Why?" I smile cheekily, waving the clearly pissed off and defenseless snake in front of Indy's face. "He won't bite!"

"Just put it down. Please." He looks about ready to pass out. I can't help but laugh some more. This is rich, finding something that the Great and Mighty Indiana Jones is actually afraid of.

"Yes dear." I grin, walking several feet away from him and releasing the snake, watching it slither away.

I trudge back to Jones, smiling from ear to ear.

"What?" He snaps, all terrified countenance gone.

"Oh nothing." I say airily, bouncing forward into his arms. "You just make me smile, Indy."

"Glad to know it." He grunts unhappily.

I contentedly let him hold me for a minute, ignoring the sense that I should make more out of this brilliant discovery.

"HOLY SHIT! LOOK AT THAT COBRA!" I scream, leaping out of his arms.

"WHA!!!!!" He doesn't even have a coherent word to say as he jumps nine gazillion feet in the air and ends up about ten feet away from me.

This sends me over the edge with a new wave of mirth and I clutch at my stomach, pointing at Indy and laughing my head off.

"It's not funny!" He reprimands me.

I don't answer, simply wiping tears from my eyes as I begin digging again. Eventually Indy joins in with me, glaring hard.

I smile, making sure he doesn't see.

The Great and Mighty Indiana Jones indeed.

* * *

**Once again, read and review and look for typos. And check out my profile before you stab me to death. I love you all dearly. :)**


	93. Marion the Watch Woman

"Please Abner!" I beg, giving my most impressionable puppy dog face. "I need my sleep! I don't want to stay up all night!"

"Oh Marion," My father huffs, stroking his short beard aggravatingly, "It's just for two hours before the next shift. You'll get your sleep."

"But dad!" I whine, scrambling after him as he walks out of the main tent, "I wouldn't be a good watch guard!"

Yeah, you heard me right.

Watch guard.

He wants me to take one of the watchman shifts and observe the camp for two hours, looking for intruders (A.K.A.- Frenchy and Patches). He seems to have no clue how utterly WRONG I am for this job.

"Marion, you will take two hours and sacrifice your time for the sake of everyone else." He commands. "I don't want another word about it."

"Another word about what?" Indy asks, walking up to the two of us. Abner, who is busy glaring at me, misses the lazy wink that Jones gives me, a flash of hazel that makes my heart skip.

"Marion is going to take one of the watchman shifts tonight." Abner puts flatly.

"As of now, it's watch woman." I point out.

"Silence, Marion!" Abner barks.

Well now, someone seems to have gotten a little too much sun out here today.

"Sir," Indy casts a worried glance my way, "Maybe you should have someone else take the shift. I don't mind doing a double one, or better yet, I'll do the shift with her."

Psh, as if I would be able to watch the entire camp with HIM next to me.

But still, it's the thought that counts, right?

"Marion is old enough to handle this." Abner says, fixing me with a blank stare. "Plus, this is her chance to prove her responsibility."

"I WANT TO SLEEP!" I yell rather loudly, causing some of the workers to laugh at my outburst. Indy makes a hacking cough sound but I know that he is hiding his own laughter.

"Marion Ravenwood," My father draws himself up to his full height, which is about two inches shorter than Indy, "You will take this shift, or you will be sent back to your trip for the remainder of this dig."

I gape angrily as Indy tries to convince Abner otherwise. "Sir, the night shift isn't something for a young woman to be doing. Especially your own daughter. It's not safe, sir." His voice becomes urgent. "If someone did try and get into the camp, she would be the first to--"

"Indy, I think I know my own daughter and her capability." Abner says icily.

Whoa. I never think I've seen Abner reprimand Indy so heavily, nor have I ever seen Indy argue with Abner.

This is a first.

They glare at each other, a foot apart. The workers watch all of us warily from the sidelines.

"Do you?" Indy asks curiously, his voice more gentle than dangerous.

"I'll do the shift." I blurt it out because I hate seeing my father so close to an aneurysm, and I also hate the feeling that Indy could get easily kicked off this dig if he continues arguing.

"Then that settles that." Abner says softly.

I see Indy visibly struggling not to defend my wishes, so I give him a warning look which he luckily obeys.

"Fair enough." He says, backing away from Abner and I. "I'll show her what to do tonight."

He walks away.

I wouldn't blame him. We mad Ravenwoods are no small joke.

* * *

"The thing about being a watch man," Indy begins as we trek to the edge of the camp.

"Watch woman." I remind him.

He smiles down at me, "WATCH WOMAN, is that you have to be vigilant at all times."

He gestures to the stool at the edge of the camp, and the whistle sitting on it.

"These are your only tools."

I nod.

"And here are the rules to this job," He says very seriously, "Number one, your butt does not leave the stool until someone comes to take its place." He gives me a fierce and rather distracting look while telling me this, "I don't care if you have to go to the restroom or need a drink of water, don't leave."

I nod again, both because I need to show I'm listening and because I need to clear my addled head of that look he gave me.

"Rule Number Two," He continues, holding up his index and middle finger, "Only blow the whistle if you see someone trying to get into the camp. All the workers have either gone into their tents or have gone to their real homes for the night, and they won't be back until tomorrow morning. So, if you see anyone, blow."

"Alright." I take a seat on the stool and clutch the whistle in my hands.

He stands, feet away from me, giving me that incredibly amused grin of his as I rock back and forth on the stool, staring out over the desert floor.

"What?" I ask indignantly. "Isn't this what I'm supposed to be doing?"

"I'm sorry," He laughs, shaking his head, "You're just too cute."

Yeah, because telling me I'm cute REALLY makes me feel better when I'm in the midst of becoming the first official Watch Woman of the Ravenwood Camp.

"Hmph." I turn away from him, facing the desert with a determined face.

He doesn't say more, but I can still feel his presence. He's probably grinning ridiculously at me and wondering exactly how crazy I am. I do not turn around to see if I'm right.

"C'mere." He suddenly lifts me off the chair and I'm plastered right up against him.

It's a good thing we're hidden from view by several tents and empty crates.

I remain motionless as he reaches onto his head and plucks the Fedora off his head. His other hand slips behind my head, pulling out the messy bun I have my hair up in. Slowly, keeping one hand on he back of my back, he places the hat on my head.

"There." He says quietly, tipping the Fedora slightly to the side.

"What? Do I still look cute?" I raise an eyebrow.

He shakes his head. "No."

"Gee, thanks." I reply sarcastically, turning my face away.

"You look beautiful." He says softly, moving the hand at my neck to cup my cheek and lifting my chin so my face is THIS CLOSE to his.

Finally, a real compliment at last. Took him long enough.

I grin slowly and wrap my arms around my neck, kissing him.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to do this all night instead of watch for intruders.

When we resurface, I disengage my hands from his mussed hair and take my spot once more on the stool, waiting for my breathing to calm down.

He mutters a 'goodnight' and starts to walk away. I remember with a start that I still have his hat.

"Jones!" I call after him.

He turns. "Yeah?"

"Your Fedora." I hold it out for him to take.

He shakes his head, "Keep it."

I narrow my eyes, puzzled. "Why? Don't you want it?"

"It'll give you luck." He answers simply.

"Luck for what?" I ask disbelievingly. "Nothings going to happen."

He doesn't reply to that, only smiling and giving me a small peck on the lips. "Just keep it. Besides, sweetheart, you always complain about how much you want it."

We give each other once last kiss and he walks away, only turning back once more to give me that cocky trademark smile of his.

I turn on the stool, facing the cool desert air.

Let the next two hours begin.

* * *

Being a first time Watch Woman, there are several things I wish I had done before starting this shift:

1) Bringing a watch. So maybe I don't own one, but how the hell am I supposed to know when the next person should be coming to take my shift?!

2) A water skin. I'm dying of thirst.

3) Food. I'm dying more of hunger than thirst. Must. Have. Chocolate. Chip. Pancakes.

4) A coat. So, I know it's like....November or something, but we're in the middle of the bloody desert. Why didn't anyone warn me how freaking cold it gets out here?

So here I sit on my stool, butt sore, shivering, stomach growling and eyes drooping. I scan the empty desert for what seems the 356th time before rubbing my arms to create some warmth.

This is all truly a RIVETING experience, but I'd much rather be in my own tent. Honestly, I don't know what I'd do if I had to stay here longer than two hours. Probably eat the stool and the whistle, but I'm not sure.

I hum a random tune under my breath. The camp has long since gone to bed. Indy walked by once and smiled at me, but I was on the shift and had to concentrate.

A flicker of movement to my left draws my attention. Something lands in the dirt with a soft thud.

I can't make out the object from where I'm standing. My curiosity pricks within me, even though I know I'm supposed to stay on that stool, just like Indy told me to.

Five seconds later, I leap up and walk wearily over to the object. It's a small arrow, like a child's play thing. I get the sense that something is wrong, very wrong indeed. I snap up, scanning the desert harder than ever before. Nothing gives any further evidence that something is amiss, yet the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as fear trickles into my system.

A gust of bone-chilling wind blows my hat off of my head a few yards away. I look for it, following the ground till I reach the hat.....as well as a pair of shoes.

"Good evening, young madam." A thickly accented voice greets me.

Warning bells go off in my head and I decide it's a good time to blow the whistle.

But I left it at the stool.

Shit.

Before I can gather enough breath in me to scream, two hands lock around my mouth. I squirm, trying to beat the person holding me. Another pair of hands of grab my wrists and force them behind my back. I start to scream, but the hand around my mouth stifles it. Something is placed in front of my nose and as I breathe in a sickly sweet smell wafts my nostrils making my eyes water and my head spin. Bile rises in my throat as the smell makes me choke.

I'm forced to my knees, as the person in front of me walks forward, kicking the Fedora out of their way.

I make one last attempt to call for help as I begin to pass out.

"Indiana Jones." The name dies on my lips, barely a whisper.

Blackness swims over me, cutting off my last thought and leaving me with nothing but a name.

Indy.

* * *

**A/N: Yay!!!! Suspense!!! The next chapters are going to pretty lengthy and full of various emotions. And you know what else? It would be so spectacular if I could get more than twelve reviews or so for each chapter. Call me crazy, but I think I would die a happy girl if I could just get to 1000 reviews. It's a lot to ask for, I know, but we can do it! Please?**


	94. Acquainting with Frenchy

Objects and pictures swim about my head, making it throb and feel very heavy. I keep my eyes closed, not curious to know if I have another hangover, even though I don't recall ever drinking.

After a moment's consideration, I decide to open my eyes just a crack.

Blackness.

I open my eyes fully and look around, moving my head slowly so as to avoid any further throbbing. There's a bittersweet taste in my mouth, and my throat is parched a fair amount.

All around me is dark. The only spot of light seeping into the room is on me. I look down to view my situation.

Holy Shit.

I'm tied to a chair.

I glance around furtively, trying to find some sign that might tell me what I am doing here.

Further more, where the hell am I?

I think back as far as I can.

What was I doing yesterday? I ask myself groggily.

Staring dimly at the cuffs of my jeans, a flood of memories suddenly overwhelms me, making my head throb harder than ever.

Indy kissing me, the stool, the thud in the dirt, the hands on my mouth, that putrid sweet smell, passing out, I watch the reel of experiences like a movie. When it finishes my head flies up with a gasp, me ignoring the fact that this only increases the pain in my head.

My breathing just quickens and my pulse flies faster than a hummingbird. I stare, wide-eyed, around the room that I can't see.

I figure that whoever has captured me is going to come in this cell at one point or another. Sooner or later, they'll have to come and visit Miss Ravenwood.

I sit in the chair and wait, deciding to unleash my wrath on my captors later on.

* * *

A click of a lock and the slithering sound of a door being opened make me wake up with a start.

I watch the space of darkness in front of me for any sign of movement.

"Good evening." A voice greets me.

Good evening? Exactly how long have I been here?

"Hello." I greet the unseen interrogator, putting an edge of steel in my voice.

Some Arabic is muttered, revealing that there is more than one person in the room. I keep my gaze in front of me, as calm and collected as I can possibly be.

Which, knowing me, isn't saying very much.

"How are you feeling mademoiselle?" The person asks, stepping forward into the light.

I hold back a shout as I recognize the person's face.

Frenchy.

Okay, Ravenwood, don't panic. Who cares if this was the guy who you were supposed to not get captured by or let near the camp? Just remain calm.

Small chance of that, let me tell you.

"Fine." I say smoothly. Except for the fact that my head is hurting, I'm thirsty and hungry, and I'm tied to a chair.

"Good." He tips his head to the side and smiles at me, and as handsome as this man is, the smile gives me no pleasure. "I'm sorry that we had to kidnap you like this, Mademoiselle Ravenwood, but it was necessary."

I catch the use of my own name and correct him. "I'm not 'Madmoiselle Ravenwood'. I'm Helga, Mr. Ravenwood's assistant."

"Nonsense." Frenchy spats. "There's no mistaking those eyes, Mademoiselle Ravenwood, the exact replica of your father's."

My heart splutters with fear once more. It's obvious that there's going to be no easy way out of this.

I glare as hard as possible. "What do you want?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Frenchy grabs a chair and sits across from me, crossing his legs leisurely. When I don't reply to his question, he says, "The Headpiece to the Staff of Ra."

I don't answer, continuing to glare at him. How much I wish Indy was here, how much I wish he could just beat this guy's ass and get me out of here, you have no idea.

"We needed you," He continues, polishing a pair of reading glasses, "For leverage so your father might...negotiate to give us the Headpiece." Frenchy leans forward and gets his face VERY close to mine, but I don't even flinch. "Do you think kidnapping you will help persuade him?"

I stare unblinkingly at this idiot, because he clearly has not met Crazed Archaeologist Abner Ravenwood.

"Nah," I say flatly, "It'll probably just give him more confidence to work harder because his nuisance of a daughter is out of his way." Frenchy's shocked expression brings a sadistic little smile to my freckly face. "You might as well just hold me here for a day or two more before sending me back, because honestly, it's not going to make a difference."

Frenchy says nothing, only gives a quick nod. Something cold and sharp is pressed against my throat and I jump. A stinging rips through my skin and I feel a small tickle of blood run down my neck.

"Oh, I think Dr. Ravenwood will negotiate with us." Frenchy says cheerfully. "I think he will be most....eager to hand over the Headpiece."

I don't make a single sound or movement. With another nod, the blade is take off of my neck and I gasp.

What calm and collected part of me there was suddenly snaps and I start to scream.

"Let me go you slimy bastard!" I screech, hoping I can be heard. "I didn't do shit to you!"

Frenchy laughs. "Maybe this will teach you not to be uncooperative, Mademoiselle Ravenwood."

Anger surges through me, anger at this idiot who thinks he can keep ME contained. Since I'm incapable of punching him ( my hands are tied behind the chair) I swing my leg up and try to kick him, but it's shackled to the floor.

"Ah, a spitfire." Frenchy laughs. "How...appealing."

I spit in his face.

He straightens himself with a haughty look and begins to walk out.

"I'm giving your father three days to turn the Headpiece in." He says softly as he opens to the door to my cell. "You better hope for your sake that he brings it to me by then, young woman." He pauses and looks behind me at one of his henchmen. "Because I would hate for my friend to mar that pretty face of yours." He motions for Patches to walk out with him, which he thankfully does.

"You bastards!" I scream. "You fucking assholes! I'll get you for this! I'll make you pay!" The promise is set, and I am going to keep it or die trying.

Frenchy and Patches just laugh and slam the door. I hear him mutter through the door, "You and I will be good acquaintances, Miss Ravenwood, I believe. Good acquaintances indeed."

Great. I've always wanted to get acquainted with someone who captured me and tied me to a chair.

I continue screaming for five minutes so, until my voice is hoarse and my throat is more parched than before. I struggle against the ropes and try to get free, but only exhaust myself further. My head seems to have a heartbeat.

I sit there, chest heaving, as realization sinks in on me. This is hopeless. I'm completely stuck.

I hang my head and let my shoulders sag now that I am alone. I fight back the terrified sob threatening to break through my emotional barrier. I let my thoughts wander, trying to ignore the feeling of uselessness welling up inside of me.

What am I going to do?

* * *

Hours, maybe even days, later, Patches enters the room with a tray of food and a cup of water.

He turns to walk out and I shout, "Oi, how am I supposed to eat this when I'm tied down?"

He just laughs and walks out.

I stare, practically starved at the measly plate of bread. I lean forward and rock back and forth on my chair until it topples over, me with it.

I land next to the tray. Using my mouth, I grab and down the glass of water and manage to take a few bites out of the stale bread before feeling nauseous. Using every muscle in my body, I straighten the chair again and wait for Patches to come back. When he does, he takes one glance at the tray and then at me, eyes widening. He starts shouting in Arabic.

Frenchy comes running in and does the same thing Patches just did. He then inspects the ropes and chains around me, seemingly puzzled when they are perfectly intact. I can't help but smile at this.

He stands up to his full height. "Well, Miss Ravenwood, you seem to be pretty bright when it comes to eating food."

He clearly has no idea what the power of hunger has over the mind and body.

I just grin at him, which seems to annoy.

He barks another order in Arabic and Patches comes forward and grabs my face.

"I'm sorry we have to go to such measures, my dear, but it's only fair." Frenchy smiles sadly as he presses a sickly smelling cloth over my face.

By the time I realize what's happened, I'm already out cold.

* * *

**A/N: Well....this is getting interesting isn't it? Do me a favor because I'll love you if you do. You see that review button down there? Just click it, and I promise that all your dreams will come true. I need reviews, my pretties. And please see my profile for info on updates, life, novels and polls.**


	95. Escaping and Rescuing

You know, I'm really starting to get aggravated with these men, with their knocking me out cold and all.

It's just not fair.

When I wake up the second time, I'm in a different room than before. Dimly lit and a little more furnished than the last. I turn slowly, searching for an object that I might cut these binds with. My feet are no longer shackled, but simply tied to the chair with the rest of my limbs.

"Hello mademoiselle." A slippery smooth voice says behind my ear.

I squirm and scream obscenities, but he just laughs at me. Either he doesn't care or he does not hear me, because there's something tied around my mouth.

"You are a feisty one," He purrs in his French accent, circling me like a hawk does its prey, "When we had discovered you had found a way to tip your chair over, eat your food and then right yourself again, it was apparent you needed to be a place where you would be better watched."

I glare furiously, despite the fear wreaking its own havoc in my head.

"Your father has not sent word to us," Frenchy monologues to himself, "But we need not be sorry. We plan to get what we want." He comes face to face with me. "Even if we have to go to desperate measures."

Desperate measures; the phrase sends unpleasant shivers up my spine. I suddenly don't care who comes to rescue me (okay, so maybe I do, but that's beside the point) I just want to get out of here. I don't want to be tied to this stupid chair in this room that reeks of French perfume.

"So...if you want to cooperate, maybe I will loosen these bonds." He gestures carelessly to the ropes around me. "And if not, you'll have to remain here."

He walks out of the room, leaving me to ponder within my own silences.

Not that I would be silent by choice. It's simply this gag that's keeping me from cussing him and his friends into oblivion.

* * *

Why?

Why does it always have to be me? Why am I always the one getting into these shit situations?!

I'm not sure how long I've been sitting here, staring at the ground as my mind sifts through the only two options I have. I can cooperate, meaning betray my father and colleagues, or I can sit here like an absolute prissy, bound and gagged in a chair.

Which, might I add, is very uncomfortable.

I'm sure that any normal person would know what to do were they in MY situation.

Obviously, waiting for Indy to show up is not going to improve anything. But trying to take this into my own hands could prove to be just as pointless. In the end, I decide to rely on my own wit and power to get the hell out of here.

Psh, wit and power my ass.

I try to think of what to do, because it will be difficult. Because I don't have the standard escape tools (a gun and freed hands and feet). I have to rely on the things that I do have.

Seeing as I can view no good qualities within myself, I think back to what other people have said. Carrie once said I have a good intellect when it comes to school. Abner is always telling me that I am stubborn. And Indy.....(the thought of him makes my heart speed slightly, it's been so long since I've barely thought of him) Indy says that I am beautiful, cute, hilarious, have an appetite of extreme proportion, a high tolerance for alcohol, a loud voice, excellent lying skills.....

My head snaps up as a plan immediately forms in my head. A smile bigger than my fist spreads across my face. I decide that this plan is just about as absolutely brilliant as any plan can get.

And the best thing about this absolutely brilliant fantastic plan?

I'm not going to need anyone but me to carry it out.

* * *

Two hours (Well, I can't be exactly sure if it's been two hours. I'm just guessing. Heh.) later, Frenchy enters the room, carrying another DELICIOUS platter of food: dry bread and water. Adrenaline courses through me as I sit, rapt with attention as he places the tray on the table and faces me.

"Are you ready to cooperate, Miss Ravenwood?" He asks hesitantly.

I nod demurely.

"The door is locked, so you won't be able to escape." He warns.

It takes him several minutes but he finally manages to cut off all the ropes around me. I stand up, knees shaking with fatigue as I walk over to the tray and take a bite and sip of the contents.

I polish off the whole plate in about three minutes, something that surprises Frenchy. I turn to him, wiping my mouth on my sleeve.

"So," I start off, my voice hoarse from all of that previous screaming, "You want to know where the Headpiece is?"

His eyes widen just a fraction of an inch, but it's clear that he's stunned that I'm going to discuss this.

"It would please me very much mademoiselle."

I sweep my gaze over the room, taking anything that I might use as leverage. I flick my eyes over the door, wishing that it wasn't locked.

I shrug, "My father often changed its location. I'm pretty sure that he gave it already to one of the museums." I glance at Frenchy, who is hanging on to my every word. "But last time I checked, it was around my neck."

"Around your neck?" His eyes travel to the aforemetioned body part and narrow when they do not see the Headpiece.

"I'm pretty sure it fell off when you guys were transporting me, although." My lying is so mellifluous, even to my own ears. Frenchy looks like a child getting told a Christmas story.

"Fell off?" He now looks like someone has just beat him over the head with a stick.

I nod.

And that's when I see it.

A key, attached to the pistol on the side of Frenchy's waist.

Thank you, Lord.

I take a step closer to Frenchy, batting my eyelids lightly. I need this, I need to act like one of the very people I swore never to become. I need to be a temporary Flight Attendant/Belly Dancer.

God, my life is HARD.

"But I bet I could show you were you dropped it," I say seductively, "Because, even though I was unconscious, I felt it fall from my neck."

A smile begins to show on his face, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from slapping it off.

"In good time, Mademoiselle." He replies, clearly liking what I'm doing.

I reach forward and tug on the belt loop of his slacks, feeling revulsion the instant I do it.

Almost there, my fingertips brush the keys as well as the pistol, but I don't take it yet.

Just....one more second....

An explosion sounds off on the other side of the door, startling both of us.

With no time to wonder what or where the explosion came from, I grab the keys and sprint for the door.

It takes all of two seconds for Frenchy to catch on that I am in the midst of escaping. He leaps forward and grabs me by the waist, trying to pull me away from the door. I elbow him in the throat, which makes him let go of me.

And let me assure you that as soon as his hands release me, I am GONE.

Sprinting harder than I ever have in my life, trying to block out Frenchy's screams for his henchmen and the roar of my own pulse, I take a right turn and sprint some more, trying to find en exit. But it's not for several minutes that I realize that I have clue where I am.

"Shit," I mutter, stopping to catch my heaving breath and figure out which way to go next, "Exit, Ravenwood, find the god damn exit."

A shout from the hallway I was just in sounds, and in a moment I'm off again.

I think it's fair to say how nice it is to exercise your muscles when you've been tied to a bloody chair for who knows how long. Despite the lack of sustenance, I'm wired, completely focused on my goal to escape.

Another explosion, louder this time, but just as sharp. I duck behind a pillar as several men run by, arguing in Arabic about something. When they pass, I spot a door just ahead, a big door. A door that just seems to scream at me 'Go through here to get out'.

Holding back a hoot of triumph, I leap forward, shoving against the door into the next room. It doesn't budge when I push semi-hard, so I press my entire body weight (which isn't saying much, considering my stick-like frame) against it. It gives way after a while and I, taken by surprise by the sudden movement, trip and fall. And then begin tumbling down an array of stairs.

"Owwww..." I groan, disentangling my arms and legs once I cease moving. I look around, my hope for escape deflating when I see where I've ended up. Because not only is it the wrong place but it's also a place that tells me where I've been this whole time.

Honestly, you think these crazy archaeologists would pick better hostage holdings than TOMBS. All they did was capture a girl from the site of one tomb and took her to another.

I ask you, where is the originality in THAT?

Though I must say, this tomb is more impressive than the one Abner found. It's absolutely crawling with artifacts. Gold, mummified remains, you name it and this place has it. There's even a cryptic chandelier on the ornate ceiling, hanging by a thin chain. I can't help but stare at it for a minute, because it really is beautiful.

After a moment more of staring, a third explosion sounds. This snaps me out of it, and I break out into a run towards the door.

"Not so fast, mademoiselle." The click of a trigger sounds to my right.

Frenchy and six other men walk me back into the giant room of artifacts, and I have no way of escaping. Seven guns are pointed at my head, so I don't really have an option at the moment.

More men enter the room, Frenchy counts them all and Patches says something nervously to him. Frenchy glares and mutters something back. Patches and two other men leave the room. Frenchy rounds on me, chuckling.

"Clever, very clever, Miss Ravenwood." He says, backing me against the farthest wall of the room. "Unfortunately, your efforts were in vain. You might have made it. And you were very lucky that your friend showed up."

Friend? I narrow my eyes in concentration, not sure what he is talking about. Who could possibly in the tomb in the tomb...looking for me?

"So now, we'll just have to do something with you besides tie you up." He says something in Arabic to the henchmen and they all laugh, dark eyes fixed on me. "Who knows, my men may want to have some fun with you, no?"

Have some fun....my eyes widen in both disgust and terror as everyone (Frenchy included) takes a step closer.

"Get away from me." I say menacingly. "I swear I'll kill you all if you so much as lay hand on me, you fucking bastards."

Frenchy narrows his eyes and grabs my shoulder. "Why you little..." He presses the gun to my head, muttering French curses at me. "You've tested my patience for the last time, mademoiselle."

I don't know what to say. I can only think and my thoughts are rather rampant.

I'm going to die. Or get raped. Well, Marion, we can't say we didn't see this coming, what with your devilish tendencies to get into shitty situations. So, goodbye, Marion. Have fun in hell.

"HEY BELLOQ!" A voice resonates throughout the tomb and everyone spins around.

I can't see the person, but it doesn't matter. I don't even care that a pistol is being pointed at my head, because a smile grows and grows across my face and refuses to go away.

Belloq spins me around as well, and there he is.

Honestly, I don't think I've ever been happier to see him than I am at this moment.

He stands right there in the doorway, gun drawn, Fedora intact, and bearing the expression of a very pissed off man.

"That's MY girl you've got your hands on." He growls in a nearly feral voice.

Oh, Indiana Jones. He's come to rescue me.

I swear I'm grinning like a idiot, as everyone else stands frozen in place.

"Dr. Jones, how nice of you to join us!" Frenchy (also Belloq, according to my observations) laughs.

What goes on after he says that happens so fast I barely look close enough to see it happen.

Next thing I know, Indy points the gun to the ceiling and shoots at the chain holding the chandelier.

"RUN!" Indy yells to me as the henchmen and Belloq scatter.

I waste no time in doing that.

None at all.

As the chandelier crashes to the floor, knocking several people over, I dart forward and exit the tomb, Indy falling into pace behind me. Belloq's scream of, "JONES!!!!" echoes behind us but we pay no heed as we run our asses out of there.

"Marion, what were you thinking?" Indy starts yelling as we run. "Escaping by yourself from a pyramid in the middle of the desert with about twenty men with guns chasing after you?"

So I'm in a pyramid? This is news to me...

"I'm not really sure I WAS thinking." I yell back at him as he motions for us to turn the corner. "All I was concerned with was saving my ass and getting out of this shit situation."

"But if you had just waited..." He says, "I could have gotten you out."

"I had the situation COMPLETELY under control until you came along!" I scream hysterically. God knows how glad I am to see him, but he truly does have bad timing. "What with your explosions and all."

"My explosions," He emphasizes, "Are what kept me from getting killed. Can you at least be grateful that I came to rescue you after four days in captivity?!"

"NO!" I shout as we near the exit of the pyramid, "Not until you can prove that you'll succeed in the whole 'rescuing' thing!"

Together, we push open the door, and I'm temporarily blinded by the bright light of the desert. I grab Indy's sleeve and keep my eyes closed as he leads me over to where he has a horse tethered to a rock.

"A horse?" I ask incredulously upon opening my eyes. "This is your great escape plan? A bloody HORSE?!" The situation is too absurd to be laughed at, so I'm just mad at it.

"Sorry, your royal highness, but they were all out of cars at the local transportation shop!" He yells, grabbing my waist and putting me on the horse before getting on himself.

A clamor from behind us makes me turn around and then scream as Frenchy and Patches crawl out of the tomb, waving their arms angrily.

"Go!" I scream in Indy's ear. He digs his heels into the horses flank and just like that we're off.

"I'm sorry about the horse." He says as we fly through the desert, "I was so worried about you and in such a hurry that I didn't really have time to think about it."

He sounds so sincere that I find my irritability melting instantly. "It's fine." I say, giving him a hug. "You're forgiven."

The rev of an engine alerts us that we're no longer alone. Belloq and Patches are beside us in a car. And I should also mention that Patches has a gun.

"Marion! Duck!" Indy shouts as a shot goes off.

I lower my head and do as he says, and somehow manage to turn upside down on the horse. I scream, gripping the saddle as a view of the horses cantering pace plays in front of me. My grip is slipping, I'm gong to die. I'm going to get trampled.

"IIIIINNNNNDDDDYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!" I scream at the top of my lungs, hoping he can hear me over the engine of the car, the gunshots and the horse's frantic whinnying.

"Marion! Grab my hand!" He swings it by me and I grab, pulling my self upward and ignoring the strain my muscles are emitting. With a heave, I right myself. It takes me several seconds to stop hyperventilating.

I look up and scream again when I see Patches still pointing the gun at us. Indy curses and takes something off of his belt, a long bull whip that I can't help but gape at. With a quick snap of his wrist, he slaps the hand of Patches and makes him drop the gun, losing it along the dusty road.

I blink.

When the hell did Henry Jones Junior become such a professional ass-kicker?

Indy looks back, "Are you okay, Marion?" He asks.

I nod dumbly, staring at him.

Am I okay?

AM I OKAY?!!!

"What about you?" I ask loudly as we gallop ahead of the car. "You just pulled a whip on someone and knocked a gun out of his hand without even touching him, and you're asking ME if I'M okay?"

Indy turns back to grin roguishly at me, not even paying attention to where the horse is going.

"What?" I can't help but grin back at him , though I'm still internally freaking out from terror.

"Nothing. I just missed that smile of yours these past few days, that's all." He says simply.

I normally would find myself going all gooey at this sentence, but the sound of angry shouts behind us wipes the smile right off of my face. Frenchy is the one holding a gun now, and he's pointing it directly at Indy.

Suddenly, I'm not afraid. I'm just pissed. Pissed that this idiot Belloq/Frenchy had to come and mess with MY man. I don't care if he shoots me, but he can't shoot Indy. Not Indiana Jones.

I don't know how I do it, or where the courage to do it comes from. But somehow, I've managed to stand up on the horse and leap to the car, knocking over Belloq and the gun. I hear Jones shouting my name as the car swerves dangerously, giving me a temporary dizziness, but I don't pay any heed to it. All I want to concentrate on is beating the absolute shit out of this jack ass.

I mean, I'm a Crazed Archaeologist's DAUGHTER for Heaven's sake. What's to stop me from any goal of mine?

The answer is crystal clear as I slam my fist into Frenchy's lower jaw: NOTHING.

I don't think I've ever fought this hard in my life. I punch him in the stomach, the eye, the throat, I just want to hurt him as much as possible for daring to threaten Indy.

"Don't you dare mess with Indiana Jones, you bastard!" I scream at him with one last blow that knocks him cold as well as makes his nose bleed.

I shove him in the backseat and focus on getting the car under control.

I look over and smile largely at Indy, who is still riding the horse next to me. For a minute, he smiles back, looking bewildered, but then yells, "Marion! Behind you!"

I seem to have forgotten one person in the car besides Belloq.

Whipping around and seeing Patches with a gun to my forehead should scare the crap out of me, but I only find myself throwing my body against him and pinning him to the seat like a snarling wildcat. I deliver several punches to his face and knock the gun out of his hand and turn back to the steering wheel and prevent the car from making any more dangerous swerves.

"Marion!" Indy shouts again, bringing the horse closer and closer to the car. "Quit playing hero and get on!"

Ha, he doesn't need to tell ME twice.

I stand in the driver's seat, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and reaching the other towards Indy, who is getting close.

"Jump on three!" He shouts.

"Jump?!" I squeak. "No way! Are you crazy?!"

"Just do it!"

"NO!"

"Marion!" He shouts desperately. "If you don't get on this horse, we're both going to go straight into the Nile River because of your pig headedness! Just trust me and jump for Christ's sake!"

"Fine!" I scream back, wobbling a little bit. I actually failed to notice up till now that we actually are about to run into the Nile River.

"On three!" Indy says, our fingers barely touching.

"One!" He begins.

"Two!" I reply, bending my knees and getting ready to jump.

"THREE!" We both yell. I release the steering wheel and jump again. It's harder jumping from the car to the horse than vice versa because of the height difference. I realize this mid-air, just as Jones' hand grasps mine in a steadfast hold.

As I remain suspended in mid-air for that mere millisecond of time, several things happen at once.

An explosion goes off behind me.

Indy brings the horse right under me so I can land decently in the saddle.

Several screams of fury sound from the inhabitants in the car.

The crack of a whip sounds.

A searing pain rips through my shoulder, and I let go of Indy's hand.

It doesn't matter though. I land on the saddle and wrapping my arms in a vice like hold about his waist, my fear deciding to come back. We near the edge of the Nile, and Indy veers to the right and turns us around. I hear the screech of tires and get an idea.

"Indy!" I have to yell in his ear to make sure he can hear me. "Do you have a gun?"

He doesn't answer, clearly seeing my master plan coming together, simply handing me the holstered gun on his hip. It feels very heavy in my hands, though I'm sure this is how it's supposed to feel, being made of metal and all. It takes both of my hands to hold it up. I'm very thankful my targets aren't that small as I turn around, aim and fire two shots into the tires of the car as it speeds towards us.

The effect is instantaneous. The car slows down, it's holey tires being filled up with sand as soon as they're shot. Belloq, who is enraged at our escape, is yelling at Patches, who is looking for his gun amongst the sand.

We did it. I set the gun back into the holster. Realization at my....ahem....OUR.... triumph makes me crow in happiness, lifting my arms in the air and letting the wind blow my tangled mess of hair around my face. It feels so good, knowing you've done what you wanted to do, which in my case, is: gotten revenge on the bastards who captured me and been reunited with my favorite guy.

I wince at a twinge in my arm and hold back a string of curse words when I see that my shoulder is bleeding a rather lot. There's no bullet hole, but it does look like I got clipped by one. I tuck my arm back down and try to hide it. It takes mere minutes for my adrenaline to run out and be replaced by extreme fatigue that I haven't felt since the plane ride to Egypt.

With a sigh, I lay my head on Indy's shoulder and wrap my unmarred arm around his waist.

"You alright back there?" He asks, keeping the horse at a galloping pace; we need to get lost before Belloq catches up, though thanks to my handiwork with the gun, I'm sure he won't.

I tuck my chin on his shoulder. "Um....fine."

Dammit, why won't my shoulder stop bleeding!!!! I glance down, alarmed at the amount of crimson that is growing on my shirt.

"Are you sure? I could have sworn that Belloq's friend hit you with the gun."

I poke my shoulder gently and lift the sleeve of my shirt a little, finding a rather large gash. I bite my lip as another fiery twitch of pain courses through me.

"Well....yes, he did." I say quietly.

Indy's reaction is a little surprising.

"WHAT?! Are you bleeding badly?"

Um....only all over my shirt and whatnot.

But it doesn't matter.

"A fair amount." I say faintly. "But I'm fine. I just need some food and rest."

A combination of exhaustion and loss of blood is starting to bear down on me, plus the pain is KILLING me.

"Marion," Indy says firmly and urgently, "You need to stay awake, okay? I don't need you falling off the horse."

"But I'm so tired!" I moan, nestling into his shoulder.

"We're almost there, just stay awake!" He shouts, his voice becoming distant.

I do what I can to stay awake. Indy starts quizzing me on the states and their capitals. I sing 'God save the Queen' under my breath.

As we ride off into the sinking sun towards God-knows-where, I can't help but make note of three things.

1) Never jump from a horse to a car and then back again. NEVER.

2) Getting shot in the arm is no picnic.

3) I will never underestimate Indiana Jones and his potential AGAIN.

* * *

**Long chapter? Yes. 4,671 words, to be exact. So because of this, I hope you'll post a review, because I'd love you dearly. REVIEW, CHECK FOR TYPOS AND CHECK MY PROFILE FOR UPDATE INFO.**

**I love you all, even when I'm not around.**


	96. Late Night Happenings

"Easy now," Indy says tightly, lifting me from the horse, "Just don't try and move it."

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" I grunt, walking beside him. More like limping because it turns out I twisted my ankle when I decided to go all heroic by jumping from the horse to the car.

"Okay, okay." He says.

It's somewhere around midnight, and despite my fatigue, I'm positive we'll be up for several more hours taking care of my arm, eating and cleaning ourselves up.

I see a tent in front of us and can't help but laugh.

"What?" He asks.

"I should have known you would have brought a tent." I shake my head.

"It gets cold at night, if you haven't noticed."

"Did you happen to bring an extra cot?" I question.

I realize the gravity of my question as I feel myself blushing furiously.

"Well...er...that slipped my mind." Indy mutters.

"It's fine," I assure him as we (well, fine, I) limp into the tent, "I'll sleep on the floor."

He glares. "You'll do no such thing. You just got shot, Marion, don't be ridiculous."

He sits me down and tells me to stay put. I lean against the scratchy canvas of the wall and let my eyes droop close; I'M SO TIRED.

Jones comes back moments later with a basin of water and a handful of dried meat. Using my free hand, I eat the meat ravenously as Indy takes the blanket off the cot and tears it into strips. I watch him warily.

"Marion?"

"Mmm?" My mouth is full of jerky.

"The wound is deep." For some reason, his face is turning red.

I raise an eyebrow. "And?"

"It's on your shoulder." He's getting redder. Why is he getting redder?!

I grab his collar frantically. "What is wrong? Am I going to die?"

"No." He gulps. "But you need stitches. This gash is deep."

Okay, stitches. I nod, taking this in and trying to be calm. I have an okay tolerance for pain, but I don't know about STITCHES.

"Alright." I manage to conjure up a smile. "I'll live."

"Well, that's the thing..." He blushes harder than ever. "In order for me to clean the gash and stitch it up--because it's so high on your arm--I need you to...remove your shirt."

"Oh." I know my face is now redder than his.

Is this the night of embarrassing conversations to last the rest of our lives????

"If you don't feel comfortable, you can put a blanket around yourself." He mumbles, running a nervous hand through his messy hair. "And you can also clean yourself up right now, since you're dirty and all."

"Okay." I say numbly. I feel suddenly very warm, and I'm not sure if it's a pleasant kind of warmth, either.

"I'll go stand outside and make sure the horse has water and then wash my own face." He tosses another blanket at me. "Let me know when you've changed."

I don't think he can sprint out of the tent any faster.

I sit there for a few minutes, staring at the blanket.

Quietly, and slowly because of the throbbing pain in my arm, I begin to lift my shirt up. It's got red splotches on it and I can't wait to toss it disdainfully on the floor. I don't know what I'm going to wear on the way back to the camp.

As I take special care to not rub my shirt against my highly sensitive shoulder, my cheeks remain startlingly red. It's just.....Indy and I have never seen each other without clothing on. We've never even discussed that subject. Not that I don't think about it sometimes....seeing Indiana Jones naked, I mean.

But it's clearly an unapproachable subject, which is why we're both a bunch of flustered idiots at the mention of me not wearing my shirt.

Leave it to the archaeologist and green eyed girl to be prudes.

Psh.

I walk over to the basin of water and do my best to wash all of the blood off of me. It feels so good to be clean, let me tell you that. Or as clean as you can get with nothing but a washcloth, a bar of soap and a basin of water. Using my good arm, I brush the majority of the tangled knots out of my hair. Unable to put it up because of the lack of ribbons inside the tent, I settle to leaving it down.

I throw the blanket over my chest and un-gashed shoulder, sitting daintily on the cot.

I wait five minutes and jump when Indy's muffled voice greets me from outside the closed tent.

"Are you covered and clean?"

"Yep." I try to sound as uncaring as possible, like the fact that he'll be touching a lot of my bare skin will be no big deal.

But it is a big deal. It is SUCH A BIG DEAL.

He takes a seat beside me, looking rather clean himself. I sit stock still as he grabs a needle and thread and then some strips of cloth. I close my eyes, preparing myself for more pain.

Ten seconds pass.

"Marion?"

I open one eye.

"I'm going to clean it with some alcohol." He pulls out a bottle from his bag. "It's going to sting, just don't move."

I try really hard to keep from looking scared, I really do. But obviously, my attempts are fruitless.

"It's okay," He says soothingly, "Just think about something else other than the pain."

It's not particularly the pain I'm concerned about. It's more the fact that he'll be touching me, and I won't be able to respond by kissing him.

He dabs a cloth with the alcohol, "Just hold still."

I grit my teeth and fix my gaze on him, concentrating on the curve of his jaw and memorizing it.

"Okay, I'm ready."

Burning, more burning, mind blowing fire is ripping through my shoulder. I stifle a small cry and Jones immediately apologizes. His presses cool fingers around the wound which help ease it, but it hurts just as much.

"Just hold still."

"Well Goddammit, it hurts!" I snap vehemently.

"I'm sorry, but you can't move, Marion!" He replies just as heatedly.

"It's fine." I grunt, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "Just distract me."

"Um...." He continues wiping at my shoulder. "What is the second amendment?"

"I'm pretty sure it's the--ow--right of speech." I squeak back.

"Who was our first president?"

I clench my teeth before answering. "George Washington."

He continues quizzing me like this for several more minutes and then pauses.

"I'm going to stitch it up now." He says conversationally, threading his needle. "And I don't think you'll want to be quizzed on history lessons, with the pain that you'll be in."

I nod. "I'll be fine."

He looks very apologetic as he nears the needle to my skin.

It isn't that bad. The first prick is hell, but they increase in dullness. I stare, focused, at the ground. Indy doesn't make a sound, and neither do I. I try focusing on the gentle brush his fingers occasionally give when they make contact with my skin. It's enough to take my mind off of the pain.

I feel a slightly hurtful tug as he ties a knot and cuts the thread. He bandages up my arm, looking thoughtful as he wraps the strips of cloth around it.

"You really surprised me back there with that stunt, you know that?" He asks quietly.

I don't answer, trying to keep the tears from coming out of my eyes. IT HURTS SO MUCH.

"You are always such a little spitfire." He laughs.

I manage to gain enough control of myself to whisper, "I try."

"Did you tell them where the Headpiece was?" He asks after a few minutes of silence.

"Of course not." I scoff. "I told them Abner sold it to a curator."

There's no mistaking the proud smile on Indy's face.

"Did they hurt you?" His voice gets an angry edge to it. "I was afraid that they might have..." He stops, too disgusted by the thought of what could have happened.

"Indy, didn't I once tell you that I can take care of myself?" I smile, grimacing as he tightens the bandage.

He doesn't answer, only staring at my shoulder as he ties the bandage.

"What's wrong?" I ask, looking at him.

"I'm just so surprised.." He continues to stare at my bandages shoulder. "You were captured, shot, and nearly killed. You JUMPED and attacked a grown man and knocked him out. Yet you're not phased at all."

"Should I be?"

He grins, "Most sane girls WOULD be."

I shrug, which hurts somewhat. "That was never in the job description. Sorry, but you should have told me to have a panic attack earlier."

He laughs quietly. "I'll remember that next time we have an adventure."

"We did have an adventure, didn't we?" I smile at the notion, falling into silent pondering. "When are we going home?"

"Tomorrow. I promised Abner I'd be back by then."

"Okay." I find myself rather disappointed, seeing as I had wanted to spend some more alone time with Indy, but whatever. Daddy dearest can't bear to wait, I guess.

"It's just that, you're wounded, and Abner will be panicking." Indy explains, still staring at my shoulder. I feel like asking him if somethings wrong with it.

"No, it's fine." I say. "I mean, not that I wouldn't mind spending time with you, but I see that we need to get back to the camp and assure everyone that I haven't died, or fallen off a cliff, or that you haven't died in the desert."

His lips twitch upward in a smaller smile than ever, his eyes reflecting it in that milky brown and green mixture that makes up his eyes. I look away, blushing, at the other side of the tent.

"Plus, heaven knows how nice it would be to sleep for hours on end and not worry about escaping from some maniac's tomb," I babble on, trying to calm myself down and not think about his eyes. "My legs are so sore, and not just my ankle because I sprained it or whatever, but I'm actually aching all over and--"

"I love you."

" I think that we both--" I freeze, turning towards him slower than the Earth rotates. I can do nothing but gape at him. Did he just say what I thought he said???

"W-what?" I rasp. "What did you just say?"

He keeps his gaze locked to mine, not answering me, his hazel eyes burning with multiple emotions that imprint in my mind. I'm drawn to them by some centripetal force and I can't bloody get away.

Oh My God, he loves me. Indiana Jones loves me. ME!!! MARION ELENA RAVENWOOD!!!

We're both sitting there, staring at each other. His hands are still on my shoulder, but gradually move up the slope of my neck, fingers caressing my skin and sending shivers down my back. His coarse and always gentle hands end up behind my head, pulling me into a kiss.

Bruising, desperate, something I never want to end. I'm left shocked and breathless, like I'm finally breathing oxygen after four days after not breathing at all. There's absolutely nothing I can do but kiss him back.

And that is exactly what I do.

I take both of my hands and cup his face, pressing kiss after kiss to his lips. The kiss gradually changes, becomes different. The emotions intertwined with it change. There's a urgency between us now, blatant and understandable.

At first, I don't get it. What exactly this feeling is. It takes a minute for me to think, because of other things going on at the very second, but I finally figure it out.

"I love you, too." I whisper into his lips.

I'm not sure if he hears me, or if he even wants to, but he pulls away and kiss my jaw, moving to my neck, my collarbone, and back up to my lips again.

There's seems to be no sound in the entire world at the moment other than our mingled breaths and the loud thunderous pulse of my heart. I don't care that we're in the middle of nowhere all alone, I don't care that my shoulder hurts like a bitch, I don't care that I'm going to probably going to die from lack of sleep and I don't care that Indy's hands in my hair are probably making it more tangled. I LOVE him. I want this, I want to be with him in every way possible.

Besides, I point out to myself, there's no point in resisting THIS; this inexplicable feeling that I conquer anything, as long as I have him.

And as we sink down into that rugged old cot, me practically overwhelmed by his lips and hands and eyes all in one, I figure that I wouldn't want this to end up any other way. Because in the end, it would always come down this simple fact:

I love him.

* * *

**OH MY GOD!!!! Exciting isn't it? Me updating for two days in a row? Well, it would be all the more worthwhile if you would be so obliged as to drop me a review. And look for typos. Because really, that's all I need to live these days. :)**


	97. Sunrise

The first thing I notice is an inexplicable sense of warmth all around me. Like I'm bundled up in some sort of blanket.

I open my eyes slowly, concentrating on breathing and waking up gradually.

The second thing I notice is the fact that my head happens to be resting on something that is not a pillow. I raise my head slightly, the musty film of sleep still whirling about my vision as I take in the sight of a shirtless Indiana Jones, his toned and tan (not to mention attractive) chest rising and falling with each breath he takes. His brow is furrowed and his eyelids flicker as he dreams. I smile and then look downward.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Last night comes back in a rush of thought, making my cheeks color and my mouth fall open. I start to sit up, but realize it's impossible, what with Indy's hand wrapped around my bare waist.

So I lie back down, nestling into his chest and placing my hand on his arm. I feel my head rise and fall with his breathing and smile to myself.

Outside the tent, the sky is a pale pale purple, the clouds sprinkled with eggshell pink. The sun, still behind the far off dunes, is rising. The purple slowly becomes an orange and then a pink and then a blue all in the coarse of a few minutes. It completely matches my mood, a wide span set of euphoric emotions that are resolved yet still running rampant.

I mull over the details of last night, because I remember them all and never want to forget them. It's not something one tends to forget; that experience. I just seem to be having a hard time taking it in; the fact that I did indeed make love with Indiana Jones. It's scandalous and very unsophisticated of me, and Abner would die if he ever found out.

But I wouldn't trade it for the world.

The sun finally peaks over the sandy mountains, bringing with it a dazzling and luminescent light that warms my naked back and face as it fills the tent with it's incandescent rays.

A sudden happiness overwhelms me and I sigh contentedly, beaming at the day before me. My throbbing shoulder is nothing compared to the absolute gaiety radiating from my heart, as completely cliche as that may sound. I find that writers like Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte missed this part of relationships when they wrote their novels, these moments where everything is so unbelievably perfect.

Like now, for example.

There's nothing that can stop me from being happy right now.

Indy suddenly stirs, groaning as he reaches up to rub his eyes. I start internally flipping out, because who knows what reaction he's going to have to this situation? I mean, it's no small thing when you wake up with another person in bed, both of you naked. What if he gets mad? What if he says this was a mistake and never talks to me again?

OR WHAT IF HE DECIDES TO ACT LIKE HARDLY ANYTHING HAPPENED BECAUSE HE'S DONE THIS BEFORE AND ALL?

Oh My God, he'd totally do that.

I lie there, sprawled across his chest (which is very comfortable, but still containing rock hard muscles) and try not to have a meltdown. I mean, Indiana Jones is so used to sleeping with girls that this probably doesn't mean anything to him. Or it will and he'll freak out just like I'm doing right now!

He finally opens his eyes, that dazed look about them as he blinks like an owl. He runs his hand through his hair and looks down at me.

"Hey there." He says groggily, stifling a yawn. He looks down at our situation and blinks for a minute, but then smiles at me.

"Hi." I squeak.

Somewhere in that moment, I feel reassured and warm again as he grins down at me. That completely blase tone in his voice sets me at ease, and I know that there was nothing to freak out about from the start. Sure, he's pretending like hardly anything happened, but at least he's acknowledging it.

"Ugh, I feel like I've been hit by a truck." He groans. "And I wasn't even the one who was shot."

I laugh lightly, enjoying the bubbly feeling in my stomach.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, looking down at me with a concerned frown.

I don't answer for a minute. I mean, how DO I feel? The word happy doesn't seem to cover everything going on inside of me. I stare back at those hazel eyes, not saying anything. How do I answer his question? I mean, my shoulder hurts, but the way my heart is fluttering I think I might be able to fly.

"Marion?" His voice is urgent as he reaches for me. "Did I hurt you last night? Shit, I swear I didn't mean to. I--... I shouldn't have done that with you if you weren't feeling well already because of your shoulder and I.."

He continues babbling for several seconds or so and finally I reach up and clamp a hand over his mouth, shushing him.

"I feel fine." I assure him, trying to communicate my emotions as much as possible with my eyes. "Better than I've felt in a long time, as a matter of fact."

For once, I'm not lying.

His shoulders sag as he lets out a shaky breath. "That's a relief. For a minute there, I thought that you were not okay."

I lay my head against his shoulder, planting a kiss on his neck.

"I'm fine." I repeat.

"I love you." He whispers, kissing me back on the forehead.

"I love you too. So much." I reply, wrapping my arms around him as his own snake around my waist.

And together we watch the remainder of the sunrise as the vibrant rays stretch across the desert.

* * *

**Just to clarify, they did have sex. I know there will be some people who think that's inappropriate because Marion is only seventeen and Indy is much older than her, but guys, it's true love. I would really like some more reviews. Because that 1000 reviews goal is very reachable if I just get 10 reviews every chapter. Please? I love you all! You're the syrup on my pancakes!**


	98. Catching up on Sleep

It takes all of twenty minutes for us to eat and pack up the supplies and climb back on the horse. Of course we dawdle in the end. Indy spends quite a while giving one last kiss ( "Because I probably won't have you to myself once we get back to your father." He explained).

It takes about half the day to get back to the camp. As we approach it, Indy tells me to take my hands off of his middle and that I probably shouldn't kiss him whenever I get the chance. I can't help but imagine everyones reaction to THAT.

Indy, always wanting to give a theatrical entrance, kicks the horse into a gallop and sends us flying into the camp, where everyone is eating lunch.

Several choruses of 'Indy!' and 'Pitcher Girl!' greet us, and I can't help but smile at all of the men I've come to know so well these past few months. I wave tentatively as we jerk to a stop. It kind of feels different, being here and all. Just like how it felt when Indy and I made love. It feels alien and new, like I'm looking at everything through different eyes. Maybe I'm finally maturing?

Indy hops off the horse and lands perfectly on the ground, while I sort of tumble off and then land on my ass in the dirt.

Well, it's nice to know that some things never change.

Jones lends me a hand to pull me up but quickly lets go once I'm up. But I fail to miss the light squeeze he gives my hand before releasing it.

"Where were you?"

"Pitcher Girl, your shoulder is all bandaged up. What happened?"

"You've been gone for ages!"

Questions and condolences (for my arm, of course) swarm us and everyone cheers. I can't stop my smile, because it really is nice to be back.

"Alright, everyone, clear out!" A British accented voice announces.

"Ox!" I scream, running to grab my friend and lock him into a hug.

"Marion," He gasps as I squeeze him to death, "It's nice to see you again." He lets go of me and glares at my arm. "What happened there?"

"She was clipped by a bullet." Indy answers for me, walking up behind Ox. "But she's fine, I cleaned it up and stitched it."

Oxley nods in approval.

The clearing of a throat states that Abner is back. Oxley and Jones step back. I glance warily at Abner, who is standing before me with his arms crossed over his chest, mustache bristling.

"Marion." He nods, as a sign of his 'warm welcome'.

"Abner." I say back just as stiffly. I glance at Indy and it looks like he wants to punch Abner, but he says nothing.

"Well then, you may go to your tent." Abner commands. "Catch up on some sleep, rest up. Have some scones. Indy," He turns to him, "We need to discuss what happened."

The three of them walk into the main tent. Sallah walks up to me and asks what I want to eat so he can get me something, which is nice of him. Indy runs back and slaps the Fedora on my head.

"I forgot to give this back to you." He winks. "You left it at your watchman shift."

He chucks me playfully under the chin and walks back into the tent. I smile giddily as Sallah gives me the food. I get to my tent, down the food and fall asleep on my cot very quickly, my blissful thoughts sinking in and out of my head.

* * *

I wake up about fifteen hours later, in the evening. I hear the distant sounds of pick axe and men's voices as my eyes flutter open. I smile to myself and go to bathe completely. It's nice for a change, getting to clean myself and not worry about any maniacs who are chasing us down. I take my own sweet time washing every inch of me and drying every inch as well.

I have about two and a half more years, TWO AND A HALF MORE YEARS, to be with Indy. And by the time his studying with Abner is finished, I'll be old enough to leave home. I can go on adventures with him for the rest of my life and we can be together. Maybe we can get married, and have children....the fantasies play over and over in my head and I can't help but smile in spite of myself. I recall the time I wrote my name down on that silly piece of paper: Mrs. Indiana Jones, Marion Jones.

It takes abut twenty minutes for me to get dressed and brush my hair to look presentable, occasionally drifting off into another love-induced day dream. I guess my actions are justified, because he loves me and all. HE loves ME.

And I love him.

I walk out of the tent and grab some dinner form the main tent. A few scones, dried meat and some water are all I need. I turn to go back to my own tent and bump into Abner.

"Oh, Marion," He greets me solemnly, "H-how are you feeling?"

I smile back at him, a little bouncy. "I'm fine, Abner, and you?"

"I'm fine." He says softly, staring off behind my head. There's a steely glint in his eyes that suggests that he's not fine, but I figure he's just tired after a long days work.

"Hey," I try for conversation again, "Have you seen Jones?"

"Indy?" Abner asks absentmindedly. He stares at me blankly for a second more before shaking his head. "No, I think he went to er...the city for the day."

"Okay." I nod. "Well, I'm going to my tent to eat and then I'm probably going to go back to sleep."

Abner nods back at me and I walk out, trying to ignore the feeling that he's not telling me something. I go back into my tent and eat my food rather ravenously, considering I haven't eaten in fifteen hours.

I change into my men's night clothes and hop into bed, dimming my lantern just enough so I can read Pride & Prejudice by the light of it. Before I can get one chapter into it, I'm dozing off. After throwing my book on the nightstand and turning off the lantern completely, I fall asleep in a grand total of one minute.

Hey, I was captured and held in a pyramid for four days and then escaped with a gash in my arm, I think I deserve a little rest!

Even if I've already gotten fifteen hours of it.

* * *

"Marion," A voice says next to my ear as a hand brushes hair out of my face, "Marion, wake up."

I roll over and groan, "My God, just let me sleep!"

"Marion, just wake up for one minute." The voice pleads.

I sit up groggily and blink, trying to see whoever I'm talking to.

"Indy?" I raise an eyebrow, glancing at the waning moon shining into the tent. "What the hell are you doing? It's probably way past your bedtime."

"I know," He says slowly, "I just had to see you."

I smile up at him as he seats himself on my cot. "Oh, that's nice. But couldn't you have bloody waited until the morning?"

"No," He shakes his head, "I couldn't wait. I had to see you before..." His voice drifts off.

I lay back down on my cot, "Well, come back when I'm more than half awake, alright?"

I close my eyes and prepare to go back to sleep, but he grabs my shoulder and shakes it. "Marion!"

I snap my eyes open and glare, "What Jones?"

"I just wanted to tell you I love you." The sentence comes out in a rush, but I hear it just the same.

A small smile stretches across my face, "And I just want to tell you that as much as I love you," I slap him on the shoulder, "You're crazy." I mumble to myself, sitting up. "Can I please go back to sleep now?"

In the dark I can just make out his profile. He turns to me and nods.

"Good." I say with a yawn. "But can I get a good night kiss before I do?"

He doesn't answer, simply staring at me with an expression that I'm too tired to try and read into.

I reach forward and pull his face to mine, giving him the softest and sweetest kiss I can muster up. I can barely feel his lips against mine as his arms snake about my waist and my hands become entwined in his hair. It's not a desperate kiss, nor is it a meaningless peck. It's resolved, and as I pull away, I feel like I've just ended something that never should have ended in the first place.

"Goodnight." I say quietly, nestling into my blankets.

"Goodbye." He mutters back.

I feel an obligation to tell him that he was supposed to say 'Goodnight' and not 'Goodbye' but I'm already asleep, playing and replaying that one kiss over and over in my head.

* * *

**Oh My God, only two more chapters left! Please review! We're so close to 1000 reviews its not even funny! Please! Review and check for typos!!!**


	99. Gone

I wake up with a horrible feeling in my stomach. Like I haven't eaten in days and my stomach is completely empty. I sit bolt upright, staring straight ahead. Not bothering to put on a cover up for my pajamas or brushing my hair, I race out of my tent.

I run straight for the tomb and locate Sallah, who is sort of the source of information for everyone. None of the workers look up at me, all wearing odd expressions of solemnity. I race past them to find my friend.

"Why, Pitcher Girl!" Sallah booms, "How are you today?"

"Sallah!" I grab his sleeve. "Did Indy go to the city yesterday?"

Sallah's smile vanishes in a mere second. He doesn't answer, a sign for me to freak out.

"Sallah!" I clutch his sleeve tighter, "Where did Indy go yesterday?"

"He was in his tent," Sallah doesn't meet my eyes, "Packing."

The minute I hear that word I sprint off, not making a sound. My heart is pounding louder and faster than it ever has and everything feels like it's in slow motion. I practically fly across the campsite, the bright morning sun boring into the back of my head. I run to Indy's tent and nearly rip the canvas apart in an attempt to get inside.

"Indy?" I dash inside, expecting to see him right there. Expecting to see him lying so carelessly on his cot, maybe reading a book with those silly glasses of his. He'll look up, smile at me, and say, "Sorry sweetheart, decided to sleep in extra this morning," before walking over to me and giving me a kiss.

But what I expect to see and what I do see are two completely different things.

The tent is empty, completely void of any sign that someone named Henry Jones Junior ever resided there.

"Indiana Jones?"

It has to be a trick, it has to be. Maybe he just moved tents, which would explain the packing that Sallah said he was doing. Yet the sight of the empty night-stand and blanket less cot confirm the dreadful suspicions within me.

I walk forward and sit on the cot, hardly breathing. He's gone. The truth of those words sinks into my skin, and continues to sink until I can barely feel it anymore. The emotional breakdown that I expect to come doesn't. I just feel surrounded by a cold metallic barrier. Despite the hot weather, I feel chilled.

I lie down on that cot, tucking my hands under my arm pits to keep warm. The lumpy mattress doesn't carry Indy's scent like I thought it would. It smells dead, like no one ever slept on it. I brush my fingers over the edges of it, focusing on every minute detail.

I don't know what's wrong with me, why I don't feel anything. Most girls would be hysterical, beyond sad.

But me?

I'm just.....dazed.

I mean, he's GONE.

Completely effaced from my life, and I have no proof that he was ever here, save for memory. With a quiet sigh, I let the cold wall surround me. I can't even begin to describe what is going through my head, because nothing is. The same phrase keeps repeating itself: He's gone. Indiana Jones is gone.

And he's never coming back.

I know that he might want to, and he may try. But in the end, some other archaeologist will want him to save THEIR daughter. And I'll be forgotten.

I get up and head back to my own tent, curling up under the blanket and blocking out all memory of anything. I just want to float into the darkness and never come back.

For hours, that is exactly what I do.

* * *

Drifting in and out of a surreal sleep is all I do. I can't tell which is which, being awake or asleep as I lay there facing the ceiling. It's like my ears have been stuffed with cotton and my voice has vanished.

The dinner bell rings. I stand sluggishly and walk towards the main set of tables. The rest of the workers glance warily at me and my heinous appearance. My hair is pulled up in a messy bun, I'm still wearing my night clothes, and I'm sure my face looks like that of a dead man.

I take a seat next to Oxley, across from Abner at the long table. I feel Oxley's worried look on the side of my face like burning acid but ignore it as I take a bite of some potatoes.

The murmurs of the workers begin to grow but I don't join in. My entire plate of food all tastes the same, bland and bitter.

"Marion?" Oxley asks hesitantly as I sip some water. "How is your arm feeling?"

"Fine." Comes the flat answer. I don't even feel guilty about putting it that way.

"Marion," Abner reprimands, "Harold just asked you a question, and you should show a little more enthusiasm in your answer."

"My arm is feeling fucking fine." I tell Oxley calmly. He blanches, and Abner narrows his eyes. The table goes quiet.

"Marion," Abner says in a dangerous tone, "Go to your tent for the remainder of the night after apologizing to Harold."

I look up at Abner, something dully throbbing inside my chest as I glare at him. "You know what? I don't think I will."

Abner bristles, and then stands up, "Marion, I need to talk to you."

I follow him to the main tent and he turns to me, actually bothering to look worried. "Are you alright, Marion?"

I stare blankly at him, the cold barrier around me stiffening, before replying, "Since when has my well being mattered to you?"

"You're my daughter," He retorts, "I have every right to be concerned."

I scoff, "Oh bullshit. You've never given a damn about me. I could walk and jump off the nearest cliff and I don't think you'd notice if you were in the middle of an archaeologist dig."

"That's not true." He crosses his arms over his chest in a defensive position. "Don't exaggerate, Marion."

My disbelief at him boils over and I start to walk out of the tent. I don't need this right now.

"If this is about Indy leaving, you shouldn't take your anger out at the world. It was my idea to send him to the Crossworth Dig, anyway."

The numb cold around me instantly starts to become more corrosive. I think I can actually feel my heart starting to hurt. I round on Abner, fury burning with disbelief.

"You sent him away?" My tone actually sounds like it contains emotion. "Why did you do that, Abner?"

"Indy needed other experience," My father says gently, "He got an offer that he couldn't pass up on, and I only persuaded him to take it."

I blink slowly, knowing the ice around my emotions is starting to thaw. After hours of nothing, I'm finally starting to feel something.

And that something is nothing short of anger.

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?" I scream. "You had no right to take him from me!"

From outside we can't even hear the scrape of a fork on a plate, but I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. The whole world could have combusted and I would never notice. My father gives me an odd look, like I'm deranged or something.

"Marion," Abner's warning voice comes out, "I know that you treasured Indy as a friend, but you will see him again."

I let out a scream of derisive laughter as emotions I don't even know I am capable of spill forth. "You don't understand, Abner! You'll never ever understand!" I stomp about the tent. "How could you take him away from me?!"

"In life we have many friends that come and go." Abner says, trying to be a prophet now. "You'll find another friend like Indy soon enough."

"NO!" My voice cracks, as well as my mental stability. " You don't get it! I loved him! I loved him with every bit of love in my body, and you took him away from me!" I run up to Abner and yell in his face. "You took him away!"

It finally begins to make sense to me, the fact that I will never kiss Indiana Jones again, never get to steal his Fedora, or spend hours with him arguing over the smallest things. I'll never get to curl up on his lap when no one is looking, or have staring contests with him over breakfast. He's gone.

I grab Abner's sleeves and shake him. "I'll never see him again." I sound weaker with each word. "Never again." I lose the will to speak, and just stand there, staring at Abner.

He looks at me, completely dumbfounded. You can hear a pin drop in the room. I don't panic as much as I should about the fact that I just basically confessed my affair with Jones to my father. It doesn't matter anymore, because he's gone. Abner blinks at me furiously for a few moments, before turning and grabbing his suitcase, rummaging through it.

"C'mon Marion," He grunts, "We're leaving."

In an instant, my voice is back.

"Where?!" I scream again, "Where else in this Goddamn earth do we need to go, Abner?"

"Nepal." He answers shortly, packing up everything. "We found what we needed here. Harold is going to finish up the dig and let me know how it ends up. But our time here is up."

"Is this because of Indy?" I walk after him as he goes to his own tent. "Is this because of my feelings for him? I don't want to go to Nepal! I want to go home!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Marion." Abner spats, avoiding my gaze. "I've had enough of this. You're seventeen, you don't know what you want."

"But, dad..." My fighting spirit is dying out.

"Pack your things, Marion."

He walks out of the tent and leaves me. I follow him.

"I'm not leaving!" I scream, desperately. "I'm not going to leave. You can't make me!"

If he is to ask why I can't leave here, the answer will be simple. And I won't even hesitate to say it.

We're standing in the middle of the camp, and everyone is staring at us. Oxley is blushing and looking down, while the workers simply gape. I don't notice. I'm so mad that I'm shaking. He can't make me leave. He can't take me away from the one place where I have any memory of Indiana Jones.

"You're not in any position to make decisions!" Abner bellows. "Having an affair with one of my pupils and then screaming at me isn't going to get you anything, Marion Elena Ravenwood!"

I stand there. Realization hits me like a hammer to the nail. The anger within me is suddenly replaced with remorse, so much remorse I can barely contain myself.

"I don't want another word about this." Abner says in a deadly quiet voice. "You're going to pack your things, we're going to get on the plane and we're going to go to Nepal. Am I clear?"

I can't speak, for fear I might dissolve into sobs right there. Tears fill me up like rising oceans. I don't know what I can say, so I nod, knowing it's hopeless to say anything.

"Good, now, off you go." Abner concludes, his eyes mocking me with the same green that lies within my own.

I turn slowly, keeping it together and staring straight ahead at my tent. My foot steps seem wooden, like I'm fighting every one of them. I change my clothes once I get in there, and throw everything into my suitcase. Five minutes later, I glance around, making sure I haven't forgotten anything. The tent is bare, empty, with no sign that I have ever been in here.

And then I collapse onto my empty cot and cry.

* * *

**Wow.**

**You guys have no idea how much it killed me to write this chapter. Ugh, I'm going to cry. Please read and review, and check for typos. But please, for those of you that will hate me for this chapter, no flames. Writing this has put me in low enough self esteem. **


	100. Epilogue

**At the bottom of the page/chapter you will find a long speech from me. Read it, please?**

**

* * *

**

I lean my head against the smooth fabric of the seat, looking out the window into the endless night sky. I'm positive there's no one else awake on this plane, because of the fact that it's two o clock in the morning and all. Abner sits next to me, snuffling lightly as he sleeps, glasses dripping down the edge of his nose.

I close my eyes, breathing very deeply and enjoying the smell of plane fuel. I recall the last time I was in a plane, and who I had been sitting next to, and compare it to now. Something in my chest throbs and I visibly wince.

My emotions this plane ride have been completely neutral. It would be far to cheesy to say I 'have no tears left to cry' because I'm sure I could give out buckets of them on demand. It's true that I'm not crying now, because most of the crying was done yesterday and the day before that.

And I'm telling you, I had no idea my body was capable of producing so much salt water.

Looking back on it, I probably looked pretty comical to the workers as I hugged all of them good bye, eyes red rimmed, hair messy and all hiccupy. I don't remember much of what I said or did, because I was not in my right mind. Abner just stood there, nodding with approval as I grabbed my suitcase, which was still half open because I had no Indiana Jones to help me zip it up like he did before we came to Cairo.

A flight attendant comes up and asks me if I want some pillows, and I tell her no. I glance out the window, with a few strands of light leaking out behind the already dark clouds. The air we're suspended in seems different from the Earth below us. Like nothing can touch us up here, nothing can hurt us.

We'll be landing at our next flight stop within an hour or so, and according to Abner (who told me this about yesterday), we have five more stops to make till we get to Nepal.

I told him that I couldn't wait.

With I sigh I continue staring out at that sky, almost black.

I've tried discussing dangerous subjects with myself, like how I'm ever going to get over him. How I'm ever going to make myself forget what it's like to touch him, to kiss him, to be held by him. Every time I try thinking about this, my throat does this strange constricting thing and I am forced to find a quiet, private place to fall to pieces.

But now, in this small plane floating somewhere over the ocean, not part of the world I know, I get enough will to suck it up.

I can move on from here. I can go on living what life that I am able to. I can still talk to Carrie, and I can still read Pride and Prejudice, and I can still eat chocolate chip pancakes. I can still trip over things and drop valuable objects. I can still function.

Without him.

.....

Right.

I blink away a wave of tears. C'mon, Marion, keep it together.

Having barely slept in two days, I'm exhausted. Part of me is afraid to go to sleep, because I won't be able to stop dreaming about him. And when I wake up, I won't discover that he never left. He'll still be gone. And I'll still be alone.

"Shit." I mutter as tears threaten to overflow my eyes. It's starting to feel too cramped and hot where I'm sitting.

I press my forehead to the cool surface of the window, thankful for a place to hide my tears as they slip over my cheeks down my chin.

I'm not sure how long I remain like this, pressed to the window and just praying that I can get over this.

"We'll be landing shortly." The flight attendant says. "Please prepare to unboard."

Abner wakes up slowly, grumbling about something. He eyes me warily, probably thinking I'm on the verge of another breakdown.

"Did you manage to get any sleep, Marion?" He quirks an eyebrow as he gathers his journal of private notes.

I shake my head, almost laughing in spite of myself as I remember a similar conversation with another archaeologist. "No, Abner. I can never sleep on planes."

"Then what did you do this whole time?"

"I looked at the stars."

"Oh."

We sit there uncomfortably, Abner shifting in his seat. Knowing the conversation is going to go nowhere, I stare back out the window.

As they say, life goes on. The things that use to be the most important to you become the least.

I don't think this proverb applies to me. In any way.

As the plane slowly slips back into the more substantial part of earth, the part where knees get skinned and hearts get broken, I feel....hell, I don't know how to describe it. I'm definitely not happy, but I'm accepting. I've accepted the fact that Indiana Jones is not a part of my life anymore.

The city lights slip into my line of vision and I'm dazzled by them, not believing how easy it was to forget them in the first place.

I'm not trying to sound all matured by this roller coaster of an experience. Because truly, I'm not.

BUT, I have to say I have learned a thing or two.

I mean, when it comes down to it, I have no choice about whether I want to move on or not. Unless I really want to go crazy and shoot myself, I'll always be here, dealing with whatever punch fate deals to me next.

Am I alright?

Um...no.

I may never be. I think I'll always have some sort of figurative bruise on me that Indy left himself. And me never meeting him again, well....that may turn me into a bitter old woman before the time I'm twenty five.

What I've always wanted, of course.

And yet, I think to myself as Abner and I step out into the cold night at the air port, despite my resolved attitude about never setting sights on him again, I've got this odd feeling that somehow, SOMEHOW, this isn't the last I'll be seeing of Indiana Jones.

Just a feeling.

* * *

**Well....here's my speech.**

**a) OH MY GOD!!!! I JUST FINISHED MY FIRST FANFICTION NOVEL! WOOT WOOT! When I started out on this baby, I had no clue it would blossom into this. I mean, I was totally blown away by how involved I felt with it and how easily every chapter came to mind. I was rather surprised and very pleased with how this fic. turned out. I just..wow. **

**b) WE GOT TO 1,000+ REVIEWS!!! EEEEEEEE!!!!! I have to say that when you all first started reviewing this story (way back in May or so, when I first published it) I was so shocked by the response. I thought it would get butchered to pieces by some of those master writers out there, but you guys were so helpful. I got pep-talks, critiques (thanks to those who alerted me of appalling typos. I owe you.) and so much support that reviews were one of the things that kept me from just deleting this whole story and giving up on writing. So, to my readers, reviewers, and lurkers, you are my own personally pep-squad and I love you all SO MUCH.**

**c) Just a note, the title to this chapter was lame, I know. But I didn't think I could have named it anything because there was no direct subject to it. **

**d) I've gotten a lot of people asking 'What will you do once Thoughts is finished, IJl?'. Honestly, I have to say that I have much in store for you. BUT....I am planning on taking a one month hiatus from this fandom to write for my other account. So, I may be missing, but info will be posted every week or so on my profile, so if you swing over there, you can find anything out about me. But for those who were very curious, I have the following things coming up: Several angsty or humorous one-shots, another chapter fic. that shall be a secret until published and random snippets as they come. **

**e) I'm not going to ask you to review, because I've already achieved the ultimate goal for me, review wise. But if you feel inspired, you can tell me on a whole what you think of this story, or you can tell me your favorite color, or you can blather on about nothing. I don't care. I'll adore you either way. :) **

**Did I mention that this is the end of the story? Heh, yeah, it is. I had such a blast working on it and meeting so many helpful writers so thank you all. You rock my socks!**

**Love,**

**IndyJonesLuvr**


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